Cruel Summer (AHS: 1984)
by Jurana Keri
Summary: Lavinia, a lone wolf, keeps to herself. Needless to say, she hates when her fertility specialist father sends her to Camp Redwood during the summer of 1984. As going-on's occur, she discovers truths about the woods around the camp, as well as a dark secret in her own family at which she is the end of the line. Everyone dreads as a cruel summer awaits and ensues.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Fertility specialist Ralph Volkov, MD, was sitting in his office on his well-deserved lunch break when he heard his phone ringing. He was taking a big, almost inhuman bite out of his Rueben sandwich stuffed with sauerkraut, Russian dressing, Swiss cheese and corned beef when he put it down and pressed the button to his office phone.

"Ralph speaking," he said with a mouth full.

"What?" The receptionist on the other end could not understand him, his mouth was so full.

"Hold on." Ralph's mouth was still full, and it took him a long thirty seconds to chew and swallow that part of his sandwich. Now, he was speaking clearer. "Yes?"

"Are you on lunch, Dr. Volkov?"

"Yes, I am. Is this urgent?" he questioned sternly.

"Not really, but the Vanderbilts are here and seem adamant to see you," the receptionist on the other end said.

"How long have they been waiting?" Ralph took his can of Pepsi that came with his lunch and cracked it open, sipping it as he listened to the receptionist on the other end.

"Five minutes, just about."

"Alright. I'll be done in another ten minutes to take them for their 2:30 appointment," Ralph mentioned.

"Thank you."

Thus, ended the brief correspondence between Ralph and the receptionist. He rushed to eat, but it did not bother him knowing full well he had a stomach of scrap iron. He kept his Pepsi on the desk, taking one more sip before going to the bathroom and washing his hands thoroughly. He also wiped his mouth of any food residue that may have come from the sandwich. The light rod above the bathroom sink adjacent to his office was flickering on and off, and when Ralph looked in his reflection, he could see himself. He had been starting to age well, with slightly graying black hair, blue eyes, and a defined jawline with stubble. He was quite handsome for a man of thirty-eight. Ralph was six-foot-three of stocky muscle underneath his white lab coat, which he had to use a paper towel and water to remove dressing from before ending his lunch break and going to retrieve the Vanderbilts from the waiting room.

Ronald and Lisa Vanderbilt, distant members of the prominent railroad-owning dynasty, were ushered to sit down in the upholstered seats facing Ralph's desk, where he sat and looked at them both. They fit the usual description of his patients – older, trying to conceive but having failed numerous times, and coming to him as what seemed like a last resort after seeing other fertility specialists. Ralph clasped his hands on the surface of his desk professionally. Lisa, a woman around the same age as Ralph, was very attractive with blonde hair and blue eyes with a heart-shaped face. Her hairstyle was very typical for the time – a short feathered coiffure with a light fringe and height to the crown of her head held in place with copious amounts of hairspray. Ronald, her husband, seemed older than her, at least in his mid-forties with thinning light brown hair, horned-rimmed glasses, wearing a tweed suit with a distinctive red tie. He started to speak first out of the two.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Volkov," he said, "I appreciate you seeing my wife and I."

"It's no problem at all. You are both looking to conceive?" he asked, taking a pen that had been laying on his desk and starting to fill out a form on a clipboard he had prepared just beforehand.

"Yes," Lisa mentioned. "We have tried for the last seven years, with no luck."

"You came highly recommended," Ronald added. "We have been to three different doctors in that time. I seriously wonder if they have done more harm than good."

"Well, what sorts of things_ have_ you done?" Ralph asked.

"Uh…" Lisa thought for a moment, "everything. Positions, diets, supplements, procedures even."

"What procedures?" Ralph was writing everything down that he could to assess their situation.

"Ovulation induction," Lisa began, "a doctor in Dallas tried to artificially put Ronald's seed in me. Did not work."

"Was it because they missed the window?" Ralph asked, "or because there is an underlying medical condition for either of you?"

"No conditions," Ronald said. "I am healthy, and she is healthy. We have our physicals every year and they are thorough. Nothing has been found to determine why we cannot conceive."

"Well, that is good news," the specialist said.

"Why is that?"

"Because if they do not find anything wrong, there is still a chance for you," Ralph said, looking at Ronald, "but I don't want to get your hopes up. Sometimes these things _happen_ beyond our control. I do want to have you both checked out once more by one of our own physicians here at the practice, and if there is still nothing found, we can go ahead and do a procedure."

"What are you suggesting?" Lisa asked, reaching over to touch her husband's hand on the arm of the other chair.

"Have you heard of something called IVF? It is a relatively new procedure," Ralph explained.

"That is not natural," Ronald disagreed. "It just seems wrong."

"With all due respect, you are seeing fertility doctors, such as myself, who are and have been trying to help you conceive, Mr. Vanderbilt," Ralph replied, raising an eyebrow. "This field is not holy and 'natural'. Without medicine, I doubt you would be alive standing here, so without something like IVF, you may not ever conceive. Do you understand?"

"I have read about it, but I'm hesitant, as is my husband." Lisa gulped, trying to stay calm. "Wasn't the first test-tube baby born a while back?"

"I'll correct you, if I may. IVF does _not_ result in a test tube baby," Ralph said, smirking and shaking his head. "And yes, a success story came out of the UK in '78. Louise Brown was born with IVF."

"How does it work, Dr. Volkov?" Ronald asked. "I… still am quite nervous. What if this does more harm than good?"

"Like every medical procedure, there is risk," Ralph said. He stood up from his chair and paced back and forth, and the Vanderbilts watched him speak, explaining in layman's terms how IVF worked. "You see, it involves removing your eggs, Lisa, and fertilizing them outside of the body and then putting them back into you so that you are pregnant."

"We… don't expect twins," Ronald chuckled. "A _son_ would be just fine."

"I don't care much, as long as our baby is healthy," Lisa said, looking at her husband.

"How many eggs are you going to remove?"

"You will first get fertility medication that makes you produce _more_ eggs than you otherwise would naturally. From you, Ronald, we would need a sperm sample. _If_ you have your physical examination and we find that your sperm is not strong enough to fertilize an egg, then we may need a donor."

"I _refuse_," Ronald spat.

"Ronald!"

"Mr. Vanderbilt, you didn't let me finish," Ralph cut it, putting his hands up slightly with the hopes of calming the reluctant patient. "As I said, sometimes this happens. I will not guarantee either needing your sperm or that of a donor, but the procedure is three steps. Follicular aspiration, when we harvest some of Lisa's eggs. Then fertilization, which will either be the mixing of your eggs and sperm in a petri dish _or _the direct injection of healthy sperm into Lisa's healthy eggs. The fertilized embryos will be monitored for a few days to ensure that they are growing properly. Lastly, embryo transfer. Lisa will be pregnant."

Ronald and Lisa looked at each other pensively, and Lisa nodded with understanding. Next came the big question – they were Vanderbilts, after all.

"What are we looking at for costs?"

"Roughly $12,000," Ralph said outright.

"Per cycle?" Lisa asked.

"Yes."

"Money is not a problem," Ronald said brashly. He sighed reluctantly, and his wife chimed in to do the convincing in case the information from Dr. Volkov was not enough.

"Ronald, _maybe_ we should try it!" she said with a smile. "I know, it doesn't seem natural, but he is right. We have done everything else pretty much. I just…" Lisa broke down crying. "I want a baby, and…I-I know you do, too. This has been so hard for us as it is, and it may be our _very_ last chance…" She sniffled, and Ralph extended to his patient a clean tissue, which she took and wiped her eyes. "I'm not getting any younger, and no offense, neither are you."

"Alright."

Ralph nodded at the two and smiled: "so, you've decided to go through with the procedures of IVF?"

"Yes," Ronald sighed.

"I definitely do," Lisa agreed.

"Terrific," Ralph smiled, as the Vanderbilts got up and shook each of their hands, informing them of their appointments the following week for their preliminary check-ups. Paperwork came with the territory, and Ralph was determined that his well-to-do patients would conceive.

* * *

Ralph had overstayed at the clinic, and by 5:30 that afternoon, he was driving down a street not far from his work in his 1983 beige Pontiac. The sun was barely setting, but he could still make out the shape of a young girl on the side of the road who was standing on top of a moving skateboard. Ralph pulled over to be closer to the sidewalk, slowing down to catch her attention. Seeing her face, he rolled down the window and she looked over at him.

"Dad?"

"Lavinia, why are you still out?"

Lavinia, Ralph's daughter, was fourteen but did not look like the typical teenaged girl with teased, sprayed hair and neon colors. Her hair, at least what could be seen under her baseball cap, was blonde, tousled and only reached her shoulders. She was wearing a navy pullover with a collared shirt underneath, a pair of acid washed blue jeans and white Reebok sneakers with two Velcro straps at the ankles. The only thing feminine about her appearance was her face – a semi-round face shape with fair skin, steel gray eyes, straight eyebrows, and full pink lips. He watched her kick her skateboard up straight, holding onto one end of it as she spoke.

"Well, dad," she began, "I waited for 45 minutes outside the school for you to pick me up. You never showed up."

"Doesn't give you permission to roam the city like this. Get in the car, it's not safe out here," her father ordered, reaching across the passenger seat to open the car door. Lavinia shook her head.

"Dad, I'm fourteen. I'm not a baby."

"You're my daughter and my responsibility, now _get_ in this car," he ordered more sternly.

"Fine, geez."

The teenager took her skateboard under her arm and plopped her behind into the passenger seat, shutting the door before she put her skateboard in the back seat and rested her elbow against the open window, looking out the window as Ralph started to drive back onto the road. Ralph, taking a sharp sigh, focused his eyes on the road but tried to engage with his daughter.

"So… Lavinia? Don't you think it's time you made some friends?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Just…" She shook her head with annoyance. "Let's go home."

"You spend too much of your time alone. It isn't healthy," Ralph suggested.

"Why should I make friends with girls who are snotty bitches that I have nothing in common with?"

"Watch your language!" Ralph snapped.

"I'm serious, dad." Lavinia shook her head, watching out the window at the road signs as they were coming out of the city and into the main suburban area. "My only friend moved away and since then, I've had nobody. Not that I _want_ for anybody, either. High school's gonna suck."

"That's right," Ralph nodded, "ninth grade this fall."

"Don't remind me."

Ralph and Lavinia got out of the car the moment he parked in the driveway. The sun had gone down quite a bit since he picked his daughter up, but their home was a three-bedroom bungalow with pale yellow siding and white, carved wooden accents. The façade was highlighted by a veranda and a set of white wooden stairs with railings leading up to the front door. Lavinia, grabbing her skateboard from the back seat, went to the mailbox to see if there was anything there. She did not expect anything except for bills and paperwork for her father, but what she found confused her – junk mail perhaps? It was a glossy brochure that was flashy and read _Camp Redwood_.

"Uh… dad?"

"What?"

"What's this?"

Ralph smirked and looked at the brochure that Lavinia had been holding up and gestured her to come into the house as he unlocked and opened the door. She went in and put her skateboard standing up near the door and watched her father take a seat on the couch with the brochure.

"I sent for this, for you," he said.

"Dad, summer camp? Really? I'm not five years old. I'm too old for that crap," Lavinia stated with annoyance.

"No, no, you misunderstood me," her father shook his head, opening the pamphlet and pointing to a phone number on the bottom of the third panel. "Here. The number."

"What for?"

"I sent for this because I think it's about time you worked, start to earn your own money," Ralph mentioned.

Lavinia was confused, raising her eyebrows: "uh… dad? I'm fourteen. Is that even legal?"

"With my permission? Yes."

"Oh…" Lavinia nodded and took the pamphlet. "Uh… so, what would I do?"

"Probably a camp counselor position. You'd be like a role model to the campers," Ralph explained.

"I don't want to deal with kids," the girl said with annoyance.

"Hey, when I was still living in New York, I worked at Uncle Peter and Uncle Vlad's delicatessen. I was about your age and made good extra money. This would be a good experience for you. You're already independent, and I am proud of that. So, put it to use here. You'll do great, I'm sure," Ralph told his daughter.

"At least _someone_ is proud of me," Lavinia muttered, plopping back down on the sofa and putting her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

Ralph got up and casually tossed the brochure on the coffee table, going into the kitchen and washing his hands. Being in the medical field, he was so used to washing his hands thoroughly, but he was distracted by a faint glow in the window above the sink. The curtains were drawn back, and clear as day, he could see a moon only half full glaring down at him. He took in a sharp sigh, gritting his teeth and letting out what sounded to be a faint, but guttural purr that faded into a growl. He kept at making this sound for a few moments, unable to control himself, as though under a curse or controlled by an unknown force. His eye blue eyes were fixed on the half-moon in the sky, even as he heard his daughter coming into the kitchen.

"Dad?"

_Grr-grr…_

"Dad?"

With his hands still wet and the water still running, he closed the curtains that hung on the window above the kitchen so fast that it made Lavinia wonder what on Earth her father was doing. She raised her eyebrows and walked past the archway and slouched forward.

"Dad, what the hell is going on in here?"

"Uh…" Ralph took a moment to compose himself and dry his hands on the kitchen towel hanging from one of the handles on the counter drawers. Lavinia looked at him even more, only to notice he was sweating profusely. "I think… we should order a pizza tonight."

"What?"

"I-I don't feel like cooking, and… I bet _you_ don't either," Ralph repeated with a nervous smile. "Go take a twenty from my wallet, okay? Order uh…" He sighed, "whatever you want."

"Aren't you having any?"

"Uh…" He gulped, "m-maybe not right now. I feel a bit… _tired_."

"Are you sure you're okay? You look like shit, and I could have sworn I heard you-"

"Nah, I was just _frustrated_! Work has been so _stressful_," said Ralph with rapid fire. "I... just need rest. Just… go do what I told you, okay?"

Lavinia threw her hands in the air and walked out of the kitchen – "fine."

She walked out, and as he heard the rotary phone dialing in the living room, he opened up the fridge and took out the carton of milk, an a few other containers of leftovers to access a half-full plastic bag buried intentionally among the other food the Volkovs stored in their fridge. He put everything back carefully, as to not attract his daughter's attention, but all he heard was her ordering the pizza over the phone.

"Hey, are you delivering? I'd like to place an order, paying with cash."

Ralph continued to put things back until the carton of milk was placed last, closing the fridge and getting his plastic bag in his grip. He slowly made his way out of the kitchen, and into the living room in order to get to his own room. He could hear Lavinia placing the order.

"A medium pepperoni, please? How much do I owe you?"

There was a pause and Ralph started to speed up his walking, even though his daughter was looking in his direction the entire time he was in her presence.

"10? Okay, see you in thirty." She hung up the phone and looked at her father. "Dad, what do you have there?"

"Oh, nothing. Just… hot water bag… f-for my stomach," he said nervously.

She rolled her eyes: "are you _sure _you're okay?"

"Yes, now can I rest please?"

There was a silence: "goodnight."

As soon as Ralph reached the master bedroom, he closed and locked the door and sat on his bed, rapidly opening the plastic bag to reveal strips of raw steak that he gathered on his palm and shoved into his mouth. He took delight in the gamey, sinewy texture of the uncooked meat and the juicy blood within the flesh, but in a way, it also repulsed him. This was _not_ normative eating behavior for any human being – it was a wonder how he did not test positive for parasites, he had thought in the years with these strange cravings. It was very much like a heroin addict getting their fix – he did not _want_ to, but he _had_ to. Once the strips were gone, he took out an uncooked rib-eye steak with a large bone, which he used to eat it like one would a turkey leg. His teeth even bit into the gristle and rind of the meat, tearing it off the bone in an almost inhuman manner with bite sizes that would make the average person choke to death. He chewed as best he could before swallowing every last morsel. When the bone of the rib-eye was stripped, he instinctually made sure nothing went to waste and gnawed on the last slivers of meat that clung to the bone until his teeth and jaws started to hurt. He put the bone back in the plastic bag and laid on his side, taking deep breaths as he felt his stomach digesting the raw contents.

_Twenty-two years living like this_, he thought. _It is a wonder how I have done so much with this thorn in my side. I just hope the camp hires Lavinia, so she can make her own money… in addition to being safe from me._

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_Hey folks! I am back with a new fanfic for _AHS: 1984_. I saw the premiere and LOVED IT! I think the overall theme is a great idea. After all, a lot of slasher films came out then._

_Those of you curious about the face claims for Ralph and his daughter Lavinia, they are **Tom Welling** (who appeared in Smallville) and **Morgana Davies** (Terra Nova, anyone?)_

_As always,** leave a Review** if you liked it/have suggestions, and be sure to** Follow and Favorite**! This will be up on Wattpad hopefully very soon with a cover and all that. Stay tuned, and thank you for your patience for my newest story! It feels good to write again._


	2. Chapter 1: Four Hours Away

**Chapter 1: Four Hours Away**

"Dad? Are you really sure you want to drive me four hours just to stay at this camp?"

Lavinia had landed a phone interview with the head camp counselor, and with written consent and a special form filled and mailed out by Ralph, she was hired in the two weeks from receiving the brochure. The camp counselor position paid about double the minimum wage for the time, $7.50 versus $3.50 for most menial jobs, which made Ralph proud of the fact his only daughter was making more money than other kids would be at her age. Lavinia was conflicted about working a summer job so far away from home – it was more of a perceived inconvenience than the possibility of homesickness for her. After all, she had spent a lot of her life as a lone wolf anyways even under her father's guardianship. School had just ended for the year, and she was stuck in that awkward phase between junior high and high school. That only added to the pressure.

"I'm not driving you the _entire_ way," Ralph told his daughter as he stood in the doorway. "Remember, you're going to the aerobics center to meet some of the other counselors."

Lavinia rolled her eyes. She had been preoccupied with finalizing her suitcase packing, "how are we getting there?"

"Bus, probably. That is what Miss Booth said on the phone. Apparently, there was some arrangement made," Ralph said.

Lavinia, zipping around her dark brown, heavy suitcase, took a glance over at her father and noticed he was as pale as a sheet of paper, and his black hair was somewhat messy with oily sweat in the strands. She had noticed when he started to stand there that he smelled funky; if she had to describe it accurately, it would be like the smell of rain mixed with a metallic odor. It reminded her of a wet dog, but it was not as strong as that. She also noticed he was dressed sloppier than usual – a plain, earth-tone t-shirt with joggers and sneakers. She sat on top of her suitcase as it rested on her bed and looked at him.

"What?" Ralph noticed his daughter staring at him.

"You look like shit. Are you okay?"

"I'm just not feeling well. Don't worry about me." He paused. "Also, watch your language. I thought I told you that."

"I just don't see why I have to be sent four hours away just to work a stupid summer job. Why can't I get something here in town? Like… a waitress or something? Or a watergirl for the sports teams?"

"Because I said so," Ralph said impulsively. "You need to _get out there_ more. I…I first left New York for college, then I went back there for med school, and you were born there… remember we came to California after mom left?"

Lavinia nodded, looking down: "yes."

"Because… w-we needed to escape our comfort zone. You need that now in your life."

"_Again_, though?"

"Never get used to things," Ralph advised. "Life can change within a mere second, and you will not know what hit you." He looked at his watch. "Oh, it's quarter of nine. We should go."

He left the room, and Lavinia took her suitcase off the bed. When she did, she heard a slight clattering sound, like metal hitting the floor. She looked down, putting the suitcase face up on the floor rug and saw that she had dropped the pendant she had planned to take with her to Camp Redwood – it was the heirloom Orthodox-styled crucifix that had been passed down to her from her great-aunt after her death four years before. Her own father wore one most times under his clothing, and there were at least three hanging up in their humble abode. There was no Orthodox church nearby to attend mass, but Ralph was adamant with Lavinia to say prayers before bedtime.

Though, she never saw the point. The last thing she saw when leaving the house was one of these crucifixes; being made of gold was the only difference from her heirloom pendant, made of sterling silver.

* * *

Lavinia was dropped off at Slimmercise, an aerobics studio in the heart of LA where people congregated to get exercise and blow off steam. From the looks of it, she concluded that it was a place younger people went to, and as Ralph stopped the vehicle, he looked over at her and nodded.

"Remember the rules."

"Rules? Dad, I'm fourteen. Stop treating me like a baby," she said with frustration.

"I said," Ralph retorted sternly, "remember the rules. Repeat them to me."

"Dad, this is ridiculous," Lavinia rolled her eyes and sighed a huffy breath.

"Lavinia, I'm serious. What is number one?"

Another sigh – "don't go out on the full moon."

"And why?"

She shook her head: "the weirdoes are out."

"Good. Number two?"

"Say my prayers before bed."

"Good Lord keep you safe. Three?"

"You _really_ don't have to worry, dad…"

"I _said_," Ralph raised his voice a bit to assert dominance, "number three?"

Lavinia chuckled and shook her head: "no boys, dad. That is the third rule."

"Very good."

"I don't know why you even bother," his daughter shook her head again. "I'm not even… _interested_ in any of that, in case you haven't noticed."

"Doesn't matter. I am your father, and it's my job to ensure your safety. I was a boy your age once, too, and boys at that age are little pigs." His tone was vehement, but sincere. "I do not want you dealing with that at all."

"Dad? Can I just get my suitcase?"

"Alright…" Ralph was reluctant and smiled at his daughter. "Safe travels, God keep you safe."

"Thanks, dad."

She lifted her suitcase out of the trunk and walked toward the front of the aerobics studio as her dad swiftly drove away. She stared at the car as it faded off in the distance, and looked down at the sunny, bright pavement of the sidewalk. _Wow_, she thought, _he was really trying to get rid of me_. The thought faded as she entered the aerobics studio to see a class in full session led by an instructor whose style was practically stolen from George Michael – gelled, puffy blond hair with a single earring complete with a skin-tight wifebeater tank top and shorts, moving his body in tune with the fast paced music with his class. Lavinia, still holding her suitcase, sat down and placed it on the floor. Thus, began a 30-minute wait, as participants went to the showers, got dressed, or used the space to socialize.

Lavinia finally stood up and paced about, whistling with the hopes of getting someone's attention nearby. She certainly did – two young women, aged between eighteen and twenty-two, were walking from the showers and caught sight of the girl dressed in an oversized denim jacket, jeans, sneakers, with tousled short blonde hair. She looked at one of the girls, dressed rather virginally with a yellow polo shirt with a pair of red, white and brown houndstooth shorts and loafers. Her hair was dark brown and parted back to the side, loose with a clip holding the topmost strands in the back of her head. The other girl seemed quite fond of leopard print, wearing the pattern on the belt that held her skinny jeans up and on the oh-so-short crop top she wore under her oversized denim jacket. She had wild, long blonde hair with dark roots and clamshell bangs that barely framed her forehead, and blue eye shadow with wild crimson blush. Her brown eyes were glazed over like she had just napped or had sex. Lavinia cleared her throat and the first one to speak was not a surprise.

"Ah, look what the street dragged in," the girl with the messy, long blonde hair teased. "Not much of an aerobics girl, are you?"

"Uh, no. I'm not here for that," Lavinia said, trying to keep calm even though this girl was literally pushing her buttons.

"Hi! Are you new to town like me?" the girl with the dark hair asked with a friendly smile.

"No. I'm actually here because…" Lavinia pulled the copy of the brochure from her pocket to show them with the hopes they would know what she was talking about. "apparently something was worked out between the studio and the camp I'm supposed to work at and leave for today. Any idea?"

"Oh yeah, Xavier's been creaming his pants about this gig for a week now," the blonde said crudely, taking the brochure from Lavinia to look at it. "He won't shut up about it."

"Xavier?"

"Yeah, he is an instructor here. In case you haven't noticed, I'm obsessed with this place." She paused and smirked. "I'm Montana, by the way."

"I wouldn't know. I don't do aerobics," Lavinia answered.

"I'm Brooke. I just started to do aerobics here to pass the time," the brunette said. "Your name is…?"

"Lavinia."

"Ooh, sounds old," Montana smirked. "Here. Xavier is over there. Want me to introduce you?"

Lavinia agreed, and followed Montana alongside Brooke, who stood next to her as Montana took the lead toward Xavier. Lavinia recognized him as the young man instructing the class when she entered – he was like a blond, paler George Michael with icy blue eyes, still in his skin-tight wifebeater tank top and shorts with a thick sweatband around his head. The single silver earring hung from his earlobe, and he smiled over at the trio approaching him. Lavinia noticed two other men standing around socializing with him.

"Talking about your last date?" Montana teased, butting into their conversation.

"Hilarious," Xavier replied coyly, changing his tone. "No, there was a murder a few days ago in Glassell Park. My cousin works for the LAPD and they think that there may be other unsolved murders around town. The cops are calling him the 'Night Stalker'. They found this pregnant woman with her stomach _ripped_ open, and the fetus was nowhere to be found. Her entrails just _spilled_ out of her and her throat looked like it was bitten out entirely."

Brooke, presenting as sweet and innocent, said something very unexpected: "I hear serial killers are very active in the summer because it's hot and people sleep with their windows open."

Montana cringed a little: "this is Brooke, new in town. And _this_…" She put her arm over Lavinia's shoulders, making her gray eyes widen, "is Lavinia. She came because of the camp thing."

"Ah, just what I was going to mention. You see, the police think this guy is going on a rampage like Son of Sam did in '78, so I am leaving town for a few months," Xavier smiled.

"Again? We already know this," Montana chuckled.

"I got hired as a counselor, and you all should come because they are desperate," the blond man with icy eyes said, looking at Lavinia. "Say, you got hired?"

"Yes."

"How? You look _twelve_," he chuckled.

"I'm fourteen, and I got written consent, thank you," Lavinia retorted.

"Lavinia…what?"

"Volkov."

"And what do you plan to do as camp counselor? Aside from rowing boats and stuff?"

"I… wanted to teach archery. I did my fair share of camp as a kid, so I had time to learn and practice," Lavinia replied.

"At least it isn't _real guns_," Brooke said. "Right?"

"Don't push your luck," the fourteen-year-old said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Montana snapped. "Are you threatening her?"

"No, I'm not." Lavinia sighed and smiled to try and lighten the mood a bit. "Calm down. What I meant was, at my summer camp two years ago, I was able to shoot with a rifle."

There was a moment of silence, and Xavier clapped his hands together to rub them palm to palm. "At least we don't have to worry about anything happening."

"I'm in to be a counselor!" a rather buff body said, raising his hand. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow after class."

"You're not serious, I hope," Lavinia chided. "I just packed my shit, and now you're saying it's _tomorrow_?"

"Yeah…" The muscular guy smiled at Lavinia, "girl got a point. Let's just leave tonight."

"You've been jumpy all week! What's wrong with you?" Xavier asked.

"I want to just get out before the Olympic shitshow starts."

Montana cut in: "Chet, I still have to pack. Where is the bus?"

"I have it, I'm renting one," Xavier said.

"Oh, I forgot," Montana said, gesturing to the muscular guy in the basketball shorts and tank top. "This is Chet," and she move her hand over to a black man, "this is Ray."

"Hi there," Ray smiled. Lavinia nodded cordially, noticing his nappy black hair styled in a fashion similar to Lionel Richie and Michael Jackson. Meanwhile, Chet smiled over at Brooke, who looked at him as though in a daze. Indeed, Chet was handsome, but Lavinia did not bat an eye at this fact. In fact, she only found herself repulsed.

"I would, but I am taking classes at Santa Monica. I'm studying to be a veterinary assistant," Brooke revealed.

"Aiming high, huh?" Montana jabbed playfully.

"Knock it off," Ray said. "I'm in the medical field, too."

"You're an orderly. You mop up shit," the blonde chuckled.

"You all really do not want to be in town this summer, because it could cost you your life," Xavier said. "It's going to be worth it, even though we are putting our lives on hold for a few months. Heck, I could use some estrogen in the crew."

"Maybe…" Brooke pondered.

* * *

That evening around 4:00pm, they had left in the bus Xavier had rented for the sole purpose of driving to Camp Redwood. In the meantime, Lavinia spent time at Montana's humble apartment, where Brooke was also invited over to watch movies and pass the time. Brooke had also agreed to go along and become a camp counselor at Redwood. Even by 5:30, Lavinia could not shake off a feeling of disgust just being in Chet's presence. The van was more of a mini trailer with seating, a round table screwed into the floor of the van. Lavinia was sitting to Brooke's left, and to Brooke's right was Montana. Across from them were Ray and Chet, and in the driver's seat was Xavier. Montana, noticing that Lavinia was a bit tense, gave her a silver-plated flask full of vodka, the attached cap unscrewed wide open.

"Here, takes the edge off," she said.

"Uh… no thanks," Lavinia protested calmly.

"Oh, come on. This won't be the last time in your life. Just have a little," she suggested.

The girl shook her head and took the flask, taking a ginger sip and grimacing with a deep sigh before handing it to Brooke. Brooke took a gulp and let out a light scream.

"Ah! How am I alive right now?!"

"Never had any?" Montana asked.

"No, what is that? Gasoline?"

"Vodka."

"It'll be a nonstop party," Ray chimed in. "I have enough blow and weed to last us the entire summer. Let's just hope we don't have to have any random drug tests."

"It's not fucking funny," Chet snapped, trying to take what looked to be a small vial of granulated cocaine from Ray's hand. Ray had gotten enough on his hand to snort it straight up his nostril, and tried to fight Chet for the vial.

"Hey!"

"001, man, that is how much shit those wastoids say was in my system!" Chet said loudly.

Montana spoke aloud: "in case you haven't notice, Chet here was disqualified from Team USA because he peed an entire pharmacy."

"The Olympics?" Brooke asked.

"Yeah, but I didn't actually _do_ anything. I worked my ass off for that spot." He proceeded to remove his tank top. "See this bod? Look at it!"

Lavinia felt a level of repulsion she had never felt before – Chet's body, covered in a thin layer of chest hair, was beefy, masculine, and virile. She looked and saw Brooke biting her lip slightly as she looked at him, still with that dazed look in her hazel eyes.

"Ever see one like it?"

"No… never," Brooke said under her breath.

"You're embarrassing yourself," Lavinia said, speaking up. _Is there something wrong with me that I do not find him attractive in the least_, she thought to herself.

"Yeah, see what I got," Ray said, pulling up his shirt to reveal a lankier frame under his smooth brown skin.

Chet just laughed: "it's just like the ads say, _there's always room for Jell-O_!"

"Eat my shorts," Ray snapped back.

The crew needed gas before long, and by 6:00PM, they had pulled up to a small, seedy gas station that also provided repair services. Everyone got out of the van and started to stretch after almost two hours on the road. Lavinia paced around a bit and had taken off her denim jacket to keep cool with her navy and white striped t-shirt. Tossing it into the van on the plush seat she shared with the other two females on the trip, she looked over to see Montana's svelte arms and legs stretching slowly to work out any kinks in her muscles. Her eyes fixed on the sway of her thin hips, her figure reminding her of a ballet dancer, and how her clothing fit her so well. Lavinia did not feel as repulsed looking at Montana like she did with Chet, which made her feel all the weirder. _Is this normal_, she asked.

"Xavier!" Montana called out – he had gone over to use the payphone to call his voicemail. "We got to get moving if we want to make it to Redwood by dark!"

The gas station attendant, named Roy, spoke up: "what did you just say?"

"Uh… _Redwood_?" Brooke said. "Camp Redwood. We are camp counselors there for the summer."

"Go back and go home," the attendant said sternly. "They should _never_ have reopened that damn place."

Lavinia, joining the rest of the crew as they reentered the van, now full of fuel, muttered a "why?" but it was ignored in favor of Xavier's dismissal: "yeah, yeah. How much?"

"Ten even."

Lavinia shook a little bit in her shoes to hear the following from the gas station attendant: "you're all going to die."

* * *

She could not help but wonder what the gas station attendant was talking about when he said they were all going to die. At Camp Redwood? Impossible. Why would her father send her four hours away in that case? Ralph was much too protective over his daughter to ever send her to a place where people were going to die. Lavinia was suddenly distracted by Brooke, Montana and the others arguing with Xavier about the correct route.

"Hey, weren't we supposed to go that way?" Brooke asked.

"That was a side road, leads the to the same place," he answered.

"You've never even been here," Ray challenged. "How do you know?"

"Instincts."

"You guys," Lavinia said, "maybe we should have asked at the gas station. Also, why was he saying all this shit about—"

"WATCH OUT!"

_BUMP!_

The sudden screech from Brooke, her eyes vigilantly on the road in front of them, signaled them all to scream as Xavier stopped the van and swerved halfway across the road. As it stopped, they rushed out to see what it was they hit. A deer, perhaps? No. It was a young man, no older than twenty-five with long hair in a bandana and a hippie-styled outfit that was dirtied and bloodied beyond all cleaning and repair. Lavinia noticed one of his legs in disarray as he lay semi-flat on the hard, dusty road. Chet was the first to initiate any action.

"Hey! Are you okay?!" he shouted, trying to elicit a response. Montana and Brooke went to support his head, and he seemed conscious and alive. His eyes were moving, and he was visibly breathing.

"Here, keep your head back and relax," Brooke said. "What is your name?"

The first response from the man escaped his lips: "I-I don't remember."

"Concussion, probably," she whispered. "Please, do not move."

"Look at those cuts," Ray said, pointing to the man's hands. "Those aren't fresh. He's been out here a _long time_."

"Doesn't matter. We cannot just leave him here," Brooke pleaded.

"We'll take him with us, but," Xavier said, standing up to dominate the scene with a plan. "we did _not_ hit him. We have to have a straight story."

"Let's get him up," Chet said.

All of them tried to grab the man and lift him toward the van, including Lavinia, who felt her forearm being squeezed so tightly she thought it would break.

"AH!"

"You gotta believe me… you gotta believe me!" Those were the only words out of his mouth.

"Gotta believe you for what?"

There was no answer – the man barely spoke as they made their way to Camp Redwood – they were only halfway through the four-hour drive from LA.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_Hey folks! If you are enjoying this fanfic, __leave a Review, and be sure to Follow and Favorite! I have put this up on Wattpad, cover and all so go and check that out! Thanks folks_


	3. Chapter 2: Sole Survivor

**Chapter 2: Sole Survivor**

It was roughly 8:00PM when the crew arrived at Camp Redwood. Lavinia looked out one of the back windows and saw the idyllic scenery of southern California, redwood trees growing and standing as far as the eye could see. She also could see the lake, in which campers would be kayaking or swimming, or the counselors themselves if they had free time during the evenings after campers went to sleep. It reminded her of summer camp in New York when she lived there as a child. Now, she was on the other side of the fence as an employee.

They drove into the camp site and in front of what looked to be a run-down cabin, but to Lavinia, it looked more like it was in the process of renovation; a very _poor_ one at that. The rest of the crew got out of the van as it stopped, and the first thing they noticed was a woman chopping wood over a block. Montana waved her hand to get her attention.

"Hey," she said.

"Oh hey!" the woman replied with a cordial smile, putting the axe she was using down and smoothing out her outfit. "Are you here to report for work?"

"Yes," Xavier said.

"Well, welcome to Camp Redwood! My name is Margaret Booth, I am the owner," she said.

"Boss lady chopping her own wood," Montana said aside to Lavinia and Brooke.

Margaret was a woman in her thirties with feathered blonde hair in a style that was easily five years outdated. Framing her mysterious brown eyes were horn-rimmed glasses, and she wore a shade of dark coral lipstick. Her outfit consisted of a clean, crisp white button-up shirt with a tan vest and matching skirt complete with summer loafers and a patterned neck scarf that barely hid a small cross pendant. Lavinia fixed on it a little bit, until she snapped out of it and looked at Margaret as she spoke.

"We are going to have to wear multiple hats," she said, "because we are short-staffed, and the kids arrive tomorrow morning."

"Good thing we came now," Chet smirked, looking at Xavier.

"Are we the only counselors?" Lavinia questioned.

"Well, the Olympics create thousands of temporary jobs, but my pool of potential employees was limited," Margaret answered. "You must be Lavinia Volkov. Your father is Dr. Volkov?"

"Uh… yes."

"We spoke on the phone. Pleased to meet you in person," she smiled.

"Speaking of medical staff," Brooke mentioned, "is there a nurse or something? We have a situation."

"Oh?" Margaret's eyes widened slightly.

"We… found this guy on the side of the road. I don't suppose you can provide medical care here for him?" Xavier said, walking toward Margaret a little closer. "We couldn't just _leave_ him there."

"We do have a nurse. Follow me."

The crew all lent a hand in bringing the man they accidentally hit out of the van and toward the nurse's cabin, where they came across a tall, thin black woman with voluminous hair in a headband, complete with appropriate summer clothing. Lavinia was a bit shocked to see she was not wearing scrubs, but then again, this was southern California in late June – who would anyhow in that position?

"Everyone, meet Rita. She is the nurse here at Redwood," Margaret introduced.

"What happened to _him_?" the woman asked, skipping introductions.

"Uh, we found him on the side of the road," Xavier said as they laid him down on an empty bed. The man murmured incoherently, and Rita was quick to see what had gone on.

"Was he already messed up?"

"Yeah," Chet responded.

"And you found him in the road?"

"No, the _side_ of the road," Xavier corrected. "He is pretty out of it, saying things that make no sense, just weird."

Rita took a moment to examine him, from the days-old wounds on his hands, to his soiled clothing, and even his leg and head. She rushed to start an intravenous drip of saline, hooking the bag to the pole and attaching the needle to it.

"He is severely dehydrated," she mentioned. "Probably got lost on a hike, couldn't find his way back, and panicked. People don't realize how deep these woods are. Hikers get lost in them _every year_, or end up dead of hypothermia, falling into a ravine, or just… disappearing." She paused. "He is very lucky you found him when you did."

"Is he going to be okay?" Lavinia asked.

"He will be. He won't die on my watch," Rita promised, sticking the IV into the injured man's hand. "I work in the ER at Hawthorne Hospital the rest of the year when not at Redwood."

Margaret cut in politely: "why don't we give Rita some space to work, shall we? Let's tour the camp."

* * *

Lavinia, along with the rest of the crew, was shown around the camp. Margaret had instructed them on some basic rules, such as prohibiting campers from using boats or going in the water without a buddy. She had shared a statistic that the number one cause of death among campers is drowning – Xavier cracked a joke she did not like nor answer to. Lavinia was a bit alarmed to see a woman with greasy, straggly dark hair with gray streaks tied up into a bandana, with sweaty clothing unloading the back of a pickup truck with what looked to be groceries. Margaret seemed to know her well.

"This is Chef Bertie, our cook and a Camp Redwood veteran," she said proudly.

"Dibs," joked Xavier with a laugh.

"You wouldn't know what to do with it if you had it, handsome," Bertie retorted, her voice deep and husky. "Here, help a lady with her groceries, will you?"

"Everyone grab a crate," ordered Margaret.

Lavinia was passed a crate full of various fruits, and she watched Montana, Brooke, Ray, Xavier, and Chet each hold a crate of food. Bertie continued to speak as they were led, in a single file line, to a designated area off the side of the trail where cars travelled in or out of Camp Redwood.

"Chef Bertie worked here when I was a counselor," said Margaret, still proud to be in Bertie's presence. "We are blessed to have her with us."

"I have good memories of this place," Bertie said, holding a lighter crate of groceries. "It's magic in the fresh air. The minute I heard Margaret was opening this place back up again, I was the first to join the team. I'm sorry that _one bad egg_ ruined it for everyone."

That last statement made Lavinia remember what Roy, the gas station attendant had said; that they were all going to die. Was it really true? What was Bertie alluding to saying that?

"One bad egg?" the girl asked, putting down the crate on a bench.

Bertie protested, ignoring the girl's question: "no, no! Pick that up, it goes in the mess hall."

_Whatever,_ the girl thought as they pressed forward. More rules were shared as the tour continued after helping the cook with her groceries – girls were to shower in the morning, boys in the evening, and the same rules applied to counselors and staff. There was also a strict rule about the sexes mingling with each other, counselors included.

"Girls are red, boys are blue, and do not even _try_ to make purple," Margaret had said sternly as they were exiting the boy's cabin.

"You expect us to be celibate all summer long?" Chet asked with disbelief.

"I'm not banning self-abuse, though every stroke soils our souls," Margaret said vehemently.

"It's 1984," Xavier challenged, "Margaret, they're building co-ed showers in West Hollywood already! Ever hear of the sexual revolution?"

"I'm aware of the _decadence_ in our era. Women's underwear that show the buttocks. Pornography in our bedroom drawers. _Van Halen_, even."

_I like Van Halen,_ Lavinia thought, _she better not say anything bad about Billy Idol, I swear_…

"I've been fighting the Lord's fight against_ filth_ in this world for years now," Margaret continued. "Charles Keating is a dear friend. I was by his side in Cincinnati during the Larry Flynt trial. That is why, when grieving the death of my dear late husband Walter, I took a small bit of the large fortune left to me and bought Camp Redwood to create a _safe, pure, godly_ and _decent_ place for children to escape to for the summer. It is a dream come true, and though there are not many rules, I expect you each to follow all of them without exception."

* * *

Lavinia had tried a cigarette around the campfire later that night when bonding with the rest of the crew. There also was vodka, courtesy of Montana, who still had her flask and let her sip a few from the container. She managed to finish the stick of tobacco before asking for another from Ray, who also let her borrow his lighter. Rita, the nurse, had joined them to get to know them a bit better.

"At least you're getting a Marlboro Red in your lungs instead of that funny weed as your first smoke," she chuckled.

"Never had any, but… I'm not with my dad, so why not?" Lavinia replied.

"Did you say your dad was a doctor or something?" Montana asked, her brown eyes glazed over from the high of marijuana.

"He is. A fertility specialist, more like," Lavinia replied.

"He helps people have _babies_," Xavier said, buzzed from the alcohol.

"People can fuck for that, you know that, right?" Chet asked. Lavinia felt disgusted with him saying that.

"I'm not an idiot," she answered.

"Any of you been camp counselors before?" Rita questioned.

"No," Xavier said, "Couldn't stand being in LA one more minute with those _murders_ going on."

"Nothing bad is going to happen here," Montana challenged.

"It could," Rita said, "because it _did_, fourteen years ago, that is why they had to shut it down."

"So, it's all_ true_?" Lavinia got up from her seat on the log next to Ray and looked at Rita, who held out her palm and gestured for her to sit down, to which she resisted.

"Look, I understand the tradition, but," Xavier got up and put his arm around Lavinia, who was significantly shorter than he was, "we are not in the mood for some bullshit ghost story."

"It was no ghost," Rita said, tapping the ash off her cigarette, "and I'll be honest, I've never been a nurse at a summer camp just like you guys have never been counselors. You have no prior experience and were hired because anybody who knows _anything _about Camp Redwood _does not_ want to be at Camp Redwood."

"Why not?" Lavinia asked sternly, her gray eyes staring intently at the nurse.

"Because Camp Redwood is the site of the _worst_ camp massacre in the country's history," Rita revealed.

"Rita, come on," Xavier muttered.

"His name was Benjamin Richter, but everyone knew him as Mr. Jingles," Rita explained. "He was drafted to serve in Vietnam, sent to Saigon, and had the highest kill rate in his platoon. Even after being wounded, he went for another tour. You see, he liked to kill, and was _good_ at it. He had this habit of collecting trophies from his enemies. For example, he would string ears onto a necklace."

"Jesus," Ray said to himself with disbelief.

"When the Army found out he was doing this, they gave him a dishonorable discharge. Camp Redwood was the only work he could find, and no one know why he snapped, but one night, he randomly went to a cabin and slaughtered some campers. Ten in total."

"Bullshit," Lavinia said. "Dishonorable discharge? If they saw he was collecting people's ears, he'd have much bigger fish to fry. Plus, why the hell wouldn't people notice he didn't 'snap' at all, but he was off from the get-go? I don't buy it. I'm outta here."

As she got up to try and leave the campfire, she saw Margaret and stopped in her tracks. The woman looked a bit distressed but did not show it in her presentation. She looked around at the campers and then to Lavinia.

"Believe it, because it did happen." Her eyes turned to Rita. "If you're going to tell the story, tell it correctly. It was _nine_, not ten."

"I… don't understand," Lavinia said.

"Well, I am not one to show off, but since you work here and are helping get the place back up and running, you deserve to know everything. Please go sit down, Lavinia, and listen," ordered Margaret.

She shrugged and went back to her seat next to Ray, and saw Margaret take Chet's beer and dump it on the ground: "no alcohol is allowed on the premises."

"Oh, come on!" Chet backtalked.

"Neither are cigarettes. What are those, cloves?"

"What happened? Just get to it," Lavinia said rather stubbornly, crossing her arms and losing her patience.

Margaret sighed: "a massacre did happen here, as I was saying. I was asleep when I heard it. It was the sound of his keys jingling. I opened my eyes a split-second before I felt the blade. I knew I was going to die, but then a miracle happened. I saw a bubble rising to the surface, and I had this powerful urge to follow it up to the light. I was so scared. I didn't know how I could stay still, but then the light became so bright. I was lost in it, in the warmth and peace. It was Jesus. I had known him my whole life, but I truly met him that day. I floated out of my body, held aloft by the wings of an angel. From above, I saw Mr. Jingles cut off my ear, but I gave him nothing. Not a twitch or a sound, and that's how I managed to survive, through the grace of God and His mercy."

Lavinia's eyes widened, but Brooke spoke up before she could: "What happened to Mr. Jingles?"

"He was arrested and put on trial," Margaret said. "I was the star witness. The jury only took an hour to find him guilty, and I thought that would be the end of it…but I can't escape him. Ever. That's why I bought this camp, to reopen it and to take all of my darkest memories and turn them into something bright and happy."

Lavinia made sense of everything in that moment – from what the gas station attendant warned her and the crew, to Margaret's testimony as the sole survivor of the massacre. She shook, but she gasped when Margaret pulled aside the hair on her left to reveal nothing but a stumpy hole where her ear used to be. That was the icing on the cake. Mr. Jingles was a real killer, and Camp Redwood was a dangerous place. Why on Earth did someone so overprotective like her father ever think to send her to a place with such a deep, heavy history? It shocked her when her boss changed the tune, like it was business as usual.

"Well, we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. We should get some sleep," she suggested. "This is the very last time I want to hear anybody talking about that dreadful night."

* * *

Lavinia was preoccupied with thought and worry. Going to the separate cabin for female employees, she was the only one there in the dark, by herself. She turned on a lamp, and knelt down at the side of the bed Margaret had assigned as hers during the tour. She sighed and took off the Orthodox cross pendant she had taken with her on her journey to Camp Redwood, and held it like a rosary between her praying hands.

"In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit," she muttered, making the sign of the cross before clasping her hands together. "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors; and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from the evil one. Through the prayers of our Holy Fathers, O Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and save us, amen."

She continued the long series of prayers that she had grown up memorizing, but her voice only got louder roughly ten minutes in, when she heard footsteps. Her heartbeat raced faster with apprehension, and her voice went from a mutter to a thunderous whisper.

"Lord, deprive me not of Thy heavenly good things. Lord, deliver me from the eternal torments. Lord, if I have sinned in mind or deed, forgive me. Lord, deliver me from all ignorance, forgetfulness, faintheartedness, and stony insensibility. Lord, deliver me from every temptation. Lord, enlighten my heart which evil desire has darkened."

The sound of footsteps drew closer, and her voice went to a normal speaking tone as she continued her nightly prayers. _Dad was right_, she thought. "Angel of Christ, my holy guardian and protector of my soul and body, forgive me all wherein I have sinned this day, and deliver me from all opposing evil of mine enemy lest I anger my God by any sin."

Her voice elevated to a declaration as the footsteps became stronger: "Pray for me, a sinful and unworthy servant, that thou mayest show me forth worthy of the kindness and mercy of the All-holy Trinity, and of the Mother of my Lord Jesus Christ, and of all the saints!"

She refused to turn around, clasping her pendant even harder as she started to yell over and over again, letting all of her emotions out into her prayer: "LORD HAVE MERCY ON ME! LORD HAVE MERCY ON ME! LORD HAVE MERCY ON ME! LORD PROTECT ME FROM ALL MY ENEMIES, LORD PROTECT ME FROM THE EVILS AT THIS _FUCKING_ PLACE!"

"Hey!" she heard a familiar voice. "Is that _any way_ to speak to your Lord and Savior, Lavinia?"

The girl turned around and saw only Margaret there, standing with her hands on her hips with disapproval. Was it the fact that she was too loud, or that she let the F-bomb slip out when praying? Surely, she was a holy roller, she would understand being so immersed in prayer that all sense of thought and rationality went out the window.

"Lord have mercy on me," she let slip from her lips as though she were still praying. It certainly appeared that way, because she was clutching her interlocked hands in a praying position with the pendant still hanging from them.

"Let's hope he _does_," Margaret said a bit softer, sitting on the floor to meet her at eye level. "I didn't mean to frighten you tonight."

"I am _so sorry_, Miss Booth," Lavinia responded. "I…I didn't believe you about Mr. Jingles, the gas station attendant warned us about this place, but no one listened to him. Now, they are all probably scared because…" She paused. "There's really no way to go now."

"Do you feel safe here?"

"As long I don't have to pull a_ rifle_ out, I'm okay," Lavinia answered curtly.

"Here," Margaret said, putting her hands on Lavinia's, "loosen your hands. Any tighter, they'll break."

Lavinia complied slowly and let the Orthodox crucifix land itself in her palm from the weird angle she had it clasped in. Margaret studied the silver crucifix and found herself curious about it.

"What a unique cross. Different from what I have. What kind of Christian are you?"

"I'm Orthodox."

"Greek?"

"No. Russian." Lavinia shook her head. "Is my name not a clue?"

"You're right," Margaret smiled. "Do you attend services?"

"Not since my dad and I left New York. We used to go to a Russian Orthodox church there. Everything was in English, though. Last time I went, I was maybe six."

"You should find a church around here to go to," Margaret encouraged.

"No need. I promised my dad three things, and one of them was to pray before bed. He does every night," Lavinia revealed. She sighed. "Can I confide you with something?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"I… think my father is _very sick_. He won't tell me, but…I often find him sweating profusely, he goes to bed very early and _not_ just because he has to wake up for work the next morning, and he is pale a few times a month. Looks like… garbage. Not to mention, he eats like a _damn horse_, and I've noticed it much more lately as I've gotten older."

"I see, that sounds terrible," Margaret said sympathetically. "Have you thought about anything else regarding his health?"

"It's weird," Lavinia expressed. "Not just that stuff, but sometimes I don't see him for three straight days, I'm home alone going to and from school by bus or skateboard, and sometimes, he comes driving up next to me when I am coming home on my skateboard and tells me to get in the car. It's like he _forgets_ he doesn't see me for three straight days at a time."

Margaret's eyes widened: "why haven't you told anybody? You're fourteen, that is _dangerous_."

"Listen, I don't want judgement," Lavinia challenged. "I just need to tell someone this, and given what you told us tonight, I feel comfortable sharing all of this. Brooke and Montana wouldn't understand, and certainly not the other bozos."

"Do you know where your father goes those three days?" she asked.

"I don't know. He comes back, and he looks like shit. Like he rolled in dirt and whatever else," Lavinia speculated. "I find him on the couch, like he has been drinking buttloads, but he does _not_ drink. It's hard to describe."

"Lavinia, where is your mother?" Margaret was in such shock: _why haven't child services been called_, she thought.

"She's back in New York. She left us when I was six," the girl said. "I only get a phone call from her twice a year. Once on my birthday, the other on Christmas. That's it. She is too wrapped up in her career, and my dad _hates_ her."

"Maybe you can give her a call in the morning?" Margaret suggested. "I know you don't hear from her much, but maybe you could tell her what is going on."

"I couldn't. She doesn't give a shit about me," the girl said, throwing shade. "I'm glad to be away from my dad, but at the same time, I worry for him." She paused. "You know what he told me recently?"

"What did he tell you recently?"

Lavinia sighed – "that he has a mark on his soul that is so deep even God cannot fix or forgive him. He prays at night before bed like I do, and I hear him crying sometimes during it, like he wants God to reach down and take him up to the sky with him. Sometimes he growls like he's angry. I don't know what that mark-on-his-soul thing means, but one day, I _will_ find out."

The girl stood up and walked away from the bed, as Margaret followed suit, watching her leave. Lavinia hooked the cross pendant back around her neck and stopped near the doorway, adjusting her short, tousled blonde hair and looking over at her boss.

"Where are you going? You should try to sleep," Margaret suggested.

"To go see what's going on in the other cabin, and maybe that guy laying down," the girl said.

Margaret approached her and, in an oddly, motherly fashion, she spoke: "_please_ stay pure. Don't let their influence ruin you. You don't need cigarettes, and vodka, and Lord only knows what else you were doing around the campfire."

Lavinia chuckled: "don't worry. I'll be fine."

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_So, what exactly is Lavinia's dad up to at night three days out of the month? Hopefully we find out soon! The suspense is killing me, too._

_Leave a __Review__ and be sure to __Favorite__ and __Follow__. Stay tuned, folks!_


	4. Chapter 3: A Sound

**Chapter 3: A Sound**

It has begun to rain over Camp Redwood when Lavinia went to leave the cabin to visit the infirmary. She wondered about how the injured stranger was feeling, but before she left, she grabbed her baseball cap and put it on backwards. She also took a switchblade knife from underneath one of the other beds, as well as a battery-operated flashlight. The rain was quite heavy, her sneakers sloshing against the muddy, moist terrain as she walked to the nurse's cabin. She opened the door but left it open to facilitate escape in case anything was to go wrong. She shined the flashlight toward the wall to get a better look at the bed the man was placed in, but noticed he was not there. She walked closer, but slowly, her gray eyes looking around in confusion before feeling a presence behind her.

"Eek!" she let out, nearly dropping the flashlight to see it was the injured man, standing on his own two feet, staring at her. She sighed with relief. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"You shouldn't be here," he said weakly.

"I came in to check on you. You shouldn't creep on people like that," Lavinia told him. "Here…" She moved out of the way and gestured toward the bed. "Go back to bed."

She managed to help him along, although he moved slowly. The man was able to sit, and then lay back where he was. Lavinia looked down at him, and he took a deep sigh. His voice still sounded quite weak.

"It's a miracle they let them reopen this dump," he said under his breath.

"Is there anyone we can call? Do you have any friends or family around?" Lavinia offered.

"Phone lines are down," he said cryptically.

"Why?"

"Cut."

Her eyebrows raised: "cut? By who?"

"Something terrible's going to happen," the man said. "Leave while you can."

"Please, try to rest, okay? I will see you in the morning, hopefully. Rita will be tending to you, too," Lavinia said. "I'm going to the other cabin if you need me, or any of us."

* * *

She walked into the other cabin, where Montana, Xavier, Chet, Brooke, and Ray were watching the start of the 1984 Summer Olympics on the TV set. She happened to startle most of them there, but her eyes fixed to the TV set before saying anything. She could see people running with lit torches, but Chet distracted her.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed, kiddo?" he asked.

"No, smartass," she said bluntly, "I went to check on that hiker. He doesn't look so good. He is so out of it."

"Karmically we're cool. We didn't let him die on the road," Montana said.

"He kept saying something bad is going to happen," the girl said. "I'm pretty convinced."

"I'm just as nervous," Brooke agreed, rubbing her hands against the smooth fabric of her pants.

Lavinia heard footsteps behind her, but it was someone totally different. It wasn't Margaret; it was a man who was quite tall with an oh-so-outdated 1970s mustache and brown parted haircut with a light rug of chest hair on his body. His outfit consisted of a navy-blue tank top and basketball shorts, reminding Lavinia of her gym teacher for most of junior high. He also wore a gold chain around his neck and was carrying a four-pack of beer. The one thing that made Lavinia cringe more than the memory of her gym teacher's shorts going up his ass when rope-climbing in shorts, was the outline in the front of the shorts. Lavinia could feel her stomach turning at the sight of a massive member just dying to peak out of the bottom right leg. _My eyes_, she thought with distress, starting to bite her nails as she diverted her eyes away from the man.

"Aren't you guys supposed to be in separate cabins? No co-ed fraternizing?" he chuckled. "I'm just fucking with you. I'm Trevor, by the way. Activities director, so _technically_, I am your boss. Don't worry, though, no rules for godly living with me."

"Thank God," Chet muttered.

"Between you and me, I bet myself fifty bucks I'd bang her by the end of the summer," Trevor said.

_Nauseating_, Lavinia thought to herself as she struggled not to puke in front of them.

"You bet yourself?" Chet asked.

"Yeah."

"Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?" Montana questioned, turning to face him more to get a good look at him. _Oh no_, Lavinia thought, _not another one of your adventures_.

"I teach aerobics at Marina del Rey. Did you take one of my classes?" Trevor wondered. "They're pretty hot."

_Please stop it,_ thought Lavinia, hoping it would all just go away. She couldn't just leave, though. She needed to prove to the crew she was more adult than she appeared.

"I also was an extra in _Three's Company_. If you look closely in the background of when John Ritter and the girls are on their bikes, I'm there. They filmed it in front of my condo!"

"I _love_ that show!" Ray exclaimed, clapping his hands and smiling.

"But weren't you in a Jane Fonda workout video?" Montana speculated.

"Oh, yes. Originally, I was, right next to Ms. Fonda herself in the first row. I just call her Jane," Trevor smiled smugly.

"I've seen it numerous times, you're not in it," Xavier challenged, shaking his head.

"Not _that_ one, because I was in the one that was never released to the public," Trevor clarified. "We shot the original for two days, but they tested it with an audience and found I was taking the spotlight from Jane." He paused and blushed a bit, "well, a certain _part_ of me had the spotlight."

"That thing was flopping like a baby elephant's trunk," Montana said with a dreamy smile.

Lavinia was officially done with this, repulsed by the very idea of seeing that massive wang attached to Trevor: "I…I think I'm going to go now, guys."

"Ooh, looks like someone can't handle it," Montana joked.

"She probably _likes_ it and doesn't want him to see her blush and drool over it," Chet assumed.

"Go fuck yourself," Lavinia snapped, "you're so nauseating."

As she left the cabin, she could hear the dialogue going on, and as she closed the door, she put her back to it, eavesdropping.

"They had to recast and reshoot, but… here's assuming you have _seen_ the bootleg copies?" Trevor asked Montana.

"Oh yes. First thing I ever masturbated to. You're a legend," Montana replied.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

* * *

Lavinia lowered her head, but made sure to stay alert in her suspicious, woodland surroundings. She put her hands in her pockets, in each holding the switchblade as well as the flashlight. She was tempted to take the latter of these items out, but in the event someone or something was hiding in these woods looking to nab her, then she would be drawing attention to herself. Her instincts always knew best – after all, working at a summer camp cannot be that different from being one of the campers, right?

_Ring-ring! Ring-ring!_

There was a sound. _A phone_, she thought, _at this hour, in the woods?_ She tried to follow the sound as it repeated over and over, and it led her to a tall box planted in the ground. As she drew closer, she could see a light attached to the top, flickering on and off, and that it was a payphone inside the open panel. Lavinia hesitated to draw closer to the payphone, and found it extremely suspect that someone, or something, was calling it. She drew out the switchblade, flicked the blade up, and walked toward the payphone. She noticed that the wire was perfectly intact, not cut like the injured hiker claimed it was. She picked it up and listened to the other end, not saying a word.

Static. Then, some talking: "you can't hide, little one. I'm going to get you. I'm going to gut you like a fucking fish, and skin you like a deer."

_Bump-ching!_

Lavinia slammed the payphone back on the receiver, her entire body shaking with trepidation. Who was that? Why did he want to kill her so much? She had never wronged anyone, and barely had any enemies let alone friends. She backed away slowly from the phone booth, but then her back bumped into something. Her heart nearly exploded from pounding so much, as she gingerly looked behind her to see a man in a hood attached to a pitch-black raincoat. From what she could see of his face, one of his eyes looked off in another direction, while his hair was long, gray and straggly. She turned to face him, and saw he was holding a large, bloody butcher knife. The icing on the cake were the keys that jingled from his pants. She started to run the other way, a scream stuck in her throat, that she only managed to shout at the top of her lungs while trudging through the mud with none other than Mr. Jingles on her tail.

"IT'S MR. JINGLES!" Her throat was in pain and raw, hoarsening her voice. "HELP! SOMEONE!"

There was no way she could pick a fight with a man with murderous urges who was over six feet when she herself was petite and five-foot-one. She continued to run, dodging trees and shrubs while Mr. Jingles chased her. She screamed some more, and even fell in a thick puddle of muddy terrain, soiling her entirely. She managed to crawl really fast on her elbows, and just barely missed his knife, which aimed for her lower leg. Lavinia screamed again, rising to her feet and finding relief to know that the lights were still on in the cabin she had left from. She banged on the door, and when someone on the other side opened it, she fell flat to her face and got mud on the floor by crawling inside and kicking the door shut. Brooke was the first to crouch to her level, seeing the muddied young girl shaking on the floor, laying on her side.

"Oh God, Lavinia, what happened? You're covered!" she exclaimed.

Lavinia struggled to speak, stammering uncontrollably: "h-he's h-h-here… M-Mr. Jingles…"

"What are you talking about?" Xavier asked. "He's been locked up since the seventies! There's no way-"

"I SAW HIM!" the girl screamed. "He was trying to kill me! He fucking chased me down, I saw his hood, his coat, a _knife_ with fresh blood on it, and his KEYS! HIS KEYS, PEOPLE!"

Trevor, the large-membered activities director, as well as Xavier, Ray, Rita and Chet all made their way to the door Lavinia came in through, and she tried to protest with Brooke sitting next to her on the floor, but when it opened, she was shocked to see that no one was there. Mr. Jingles was out of sight, and out of their minds. Trevor flashed a light out into the darkness, and no one was there. They came back into the cabin and shut the door, while Lavinia managed to compose herself enough to stand on two feet.

"Girl, you're tripping," Rita suggested.

"I SAW HIM! I swear! Why the fuck else would I be covered in mud?" the girl challenged.

"You better watch your mouth," the nurse retorted, "or that is one strike."

"One strike?!" Lavinia grunted angrily.

"Is that my knife?" Montana asked, cutting into their heated dialogue.

Lavinia looked next to her on the floor to see the mud-covered open switchblade, which had fallen out of her hand when collapsing to the wooden floor. She sighed and looked at Montana, wondering how this was more important than the fact that Mr. Jingles was on the loose.

"I…found it… in the cabin," she said calmly. "I didn't know whose it was, but I needed something after hearing about that damn story which is all true." She paused, looking up at Montana. "Wait, you _sleep_ with that thing?"

"I have a suspicious nature," Montana replied, "and if you ever steal it again-"

"Wait, why is the nurse cabin's door open?" Trevor asked, flashing the flashlight out the window and noticing the strange occurrence. He, along with the rest of the crew, left through the door, except for Brooke and Lavinia, who begged them to stay.

"NO! DON'T GO! HE'S IN THERE!" she screeched.

"I hope he's not really here," Brooke said fearfully.

"We gotta stop them!" Lavinia begged. "He_ is_ here!"

The two shut the door behind them, and ran after the rest of the crew, but then they heard a few yells and screams from inside the nurse's cabin. The two ended up going in, only to see a massive pile of blood on the floor, and a mass that was the hiker's body laying in it. Xavier nearly gagged at the sight of his throat slit so deeply he was practically decapitated. Lavinia was the first to notice that the hiker's ear was sliced off, leaving nothing but a bloody, stumpy hole. Rita held her arms out to make everyone stand back away from the body.

"See? I told you!" the girl was holding back tears. "He is here!"

"We have to do something, fast," Rita ordered.

"Call the police," Lavinia said.

"Aren't the phones down?"

"No, because I heard someone calling the payphone out there," the girl corrected.

"He can't stay here like this," Rita said. "Xavier, Ray? Go and find a phone. The rest of you, help me with the body."

"We can't just throw him in a lake or something!" Brooke protested.

"We are just getting him out of the way," Montana said.

"Is this even smart, considering the police might come and investigate?" Trevor asked. "Don't move the body until we know they are coming, and they can handle it. They'll think we did something."

So, they kept the body of the hiker in its place, despite that it was starting to stink up the cabin. It took about twenty minutes for Xavier and Ray to return from trying to find an available phone at Camp Redwood, but much to their chagrin, there were none. Rita looked at them as they came back in the nurse's cabin, and Xavier looked frightened.

"Well?" she asked.

"No phones. All the lines are cut," he mentioned.

"But I just heard someone calling the payphone!" exclaimed Lavinia. "That's impossible!"

"No luck," Ray repeated.

"Wait, what about Margaret's office?" Lavinia questioned.

"It's locked," Xavier said. "We can't get in."

"Have you even seen her?" Brooke asked. "We have to find a way to get in her office and call the police."

Suddenly, there were footsteps entering the nurse's cabin. Lavinia, Brooke, Montana, Xavier, Chet, Trevor and Ray all turned to look and see it was Margaret Booth, looking at Lavinia with shock. The girl was still covered in mud, and it prompted her to say something.

"What happened to you?!" she exclaimed. "Cleanliness is godliness. Go clean yourself up."

"I'm sorry, Miss Booth, but we have much bigger fish to fry than godliness or a shower right now," Lavinia retorted, pointing at the body of the hiker on the floor.

Her eyes widened through her horn-rimmed glasses, shaking her head. She immediately saw the ear cut off the carcass, and started to tear up, holding her palms together toward her mouth as if to silently pray. She bowed her head and looked to the rest of the crew.

"God save us all," she whimpered.

"Call the police," Montana said. "Only takes a minute. If Mr. Jingles really _did_ escape, he's probably on the late-night news and people need to know where he is, even if he's around here."

"Any of us could be next," Lavinia warned. "I almost was."

* * *

Ralph had a very difficult time sleeping that night. He was tossing, turning, and he had night sweats to the point he had to kick his top sheet and comforter off him. He suddenly opened his icy blue eyes wide and looked over at the clock on his bedside. It read exactly 11:30PM, and he had been asleep for three straight hours. He got up from the bed, hoping that a glass of water would help him more than tossing and turning. When venturing to the kitchen to get a glass of cold water, he turned on the TV set in the living room, and as soon as his water was filled to the line on the cup, he sipped it and sat in front of it, alarmed by what the next report was.

"_**Tonight at 11:30, breaking news out of a mental hospital just outside Los Angeles, patients have been evacuated as police and officials investigate the escape of Benjamin Richter, also known as serial killer Mr. Jingles, who, back in 1970, murdered an entire cabin at Camp Redwood, a summer camp just four hours away. Jim Engelman has more on the scene**_."

Camp Redwood – those words caught his attention. Ralph drank his water and leaned forward, now fully awake and watching a man appear on the TV screen with a microphone and a raincoat, the water pelting on him from the sky like fiery pistons.

"_**Thank you, Lisa. I am at the site of a mental institution for the criminally insane where Benjamin Richter, also known as Mr. Jingles, escaped from. I have Art, administrator of the asylum here on the scene. Art, tell me, what was the first thing you found?**_"

"_**We found one of the orderlies dead in his cell doing nightly checks, and it appeared as though the inmate tried to fake suicide by hanging. Police have set up roadblocks, and we anticipate that he will not go very far with those in place**_," Art said through the TV.

"_**And did anyone witness this firsthand**_?" the reporter asked.

"_**Dr. Hopple was the first to report the incident**_," Art said.

"_**Do you speculate that Mr. Richter will return to Camp Redwood?"**_

"_**I am not certain, but we will be investigating further. I have no more comments."**_

Ralph watched Art, the director of the institution, walk away from the reporter on screen, and he immediately started to panic. He raised his fist to his mouth to bite against it, but he did it so hard and roughly that he drew blood and tore skin. He looked down at it, and in the meantime, was letting out an inhuman growl. He felt so guilty at the fact that he unknowingly sent his daughter to her own potential death.

He had to act – fast.

Ralph went to the rotary-dial phone immediately and dialed the number of the director of his practice in fertility medicine. He put the phone to his ear and heard for a voice; when he did, it was groggy and lethargic.

"Hello?"

"It's Ralph Volkov," he said, nearly losing his patience.

"Why are you calling? It's eleven at night," the man on the other end said.

"I don't give a shit. I have an emergency with my daughter, and I don't know how long I will be away for," Ralph said abrasively.

"Whoa, slow it down, there," the director said, sounding more alert on the phone.

"I can't slow it down. I need to go _right now_. I'll explain later. Night."

Ralph put the phone back on the receiver and went apace into the master bedroom. He immediately grabbed clothing from his drawers and packed it in the suitcase he had pulled from under his bed. He opened it and tossed his necessities into it, closing it tightly before getting his shoes and jacket on. He locked the both the back and front doors securely, in that order, and made his way to the car. He got in, started the engine, and sped off down the street. He knew he would need directions to Camp Redwood, and luckily, he had a map in his car to set on the passenger seat and glance at. It also had been raining for hours by this point, so it made it much harder to navigate safely. Yet, he used his instincts and drove with the map by his side, the radio quietly playing soft, easy-listening music to keep him alert.


	5. Chapter 4: Turn Around

**Chapter 4: Turn Around**

Ralph had been driving for two hours in the rain. He peeked at the clock on his dashboard to see it was approaching 1AM. He felt an all-too-familiar, horrible feeling in his chest and head, but lucked out when he saw what looked to be a gas station on the side of the road. It was seedy and rustic, and he got out immediately, walking up to the garage where he saw a man with a gaunt face and dark hair putting away what looked to be tools in their rightful places. Ralph waved at him, and the man, Roy, looked back at him.

"I closed down like four hours ago," Roy stated. "Anything I can do?"

"I just… n-need a bathroom, and some gas, if you please. It's an emergency," Ralph replied earnestly.

"Gas I can do, but it will cost you."

"I… I'll need a m-minute," Ralph said. "Where is the bathroom?"

"Toward the back," Roy pointed toward the back of the garage where he worked.

"Thank you…"

Ralph looked up at the sky and saw a dreaded sight – the moon was full, beaming and bright, glaring down on him like a wrath from the heavens. Just two weeks before, it was half full, and he had an intense craving for blood, which raw meat only did so much to satiate. He hustled to the bathroom, pretending as much as he could to need to go really bad, but he collapsed just far enough away from Roy so he would not see what happened next.

He growled, panted, and wheezed, feeling all the feelings of the month intensify a hundred-fold. Tears flowed from his eyes, remorseful for what he had yet to do.

"Please God, I am an unworthy servant… p-please have mercy on my soul…" he prayed, crying as he groaned louder in pain.

He could feel his back bones start to break and reform: "Forgive me, Lord… please… AH!"

The pain was so intense and seemed to last forever. It was a wonder how he did not feel faint as he felt his clothing start to rip from his body, just like his skin was parting over fur-covered flesh like a larva breaking out of a tight egg. He started to shout and growl as his facial bones and muscles started to break, split and reform into a large snout, and he could feel his height doubling from six-foot-three to just over twelve feet as his legs not only broke and reformed, but grew in length, shaped like that of an oversized wolf. His muscle mass also increased, his nails turned to hard talon-like claws, and the cartilage of his ears moved toward the top of his head. Ralph could also feel his senses heightening; smell and taste, especially, and he felt a sense of unholy strength overcome him. This metamorphosis left him covered in fur as black and thick as his own human hair, and without any sense of rationality indicative of a human.

Roy heard the commotion and gingerly walked over to the man he let use his bathroom, but was shocked to see the man replaced by something he only imagined to exist in movies, like the Wolfman. This was no movie, this was reality. This twelve-foot Lycan was going to maul him, and he knew it. Bracing himself, he could hear the black-furred Lycan roaring at him and reaching over to grab him in his large, clawed hands. The Lycan mercilessly ripped into his throat with his razor-sharp teeth and proceeded to devour parts of his body; both his legs and one arm, to be exact. There was a huge splatter of blood on the floor where his carcass was tossed, and the rain barely washed it away. The Lycan was so tall that he hit his head on the ceiling of the garage, all the while accelerating at an inhuman speed through the woods to his destination – Camp Redwood.

* * *

Lavinia, Montana, Travis, Ray, Xavier, Brooke and Chet were all in a separate cabin after finding the hiker dead. Strangely enough, when they left to try and call the police to report the murder, they returned to the nurse's cabin to see that the body had disappeared. There wasn't even any blood remaining. _How strange_, Lavinia thought, shook by the sight of the corpse missing, that looked so real and corporeal. The crew were told to return to their cabins by Margaret and Rita, where Lavinia took a late-night nap after a shower to wash the mud off her body. She had put on a pair of light blue jeans, and a Billy Idol t-shirt gifted to her three years before, and she managed to clean off her sneakers which were drying under a window. Her tousled, short blonde hair was wet but drying in distinctive waves as she slept. Now, it was 1:30AM, and the news was still on.

"_**This just in at 1:30AM, breaking news, a brutal, vicious murder at a gas station in Red Meadows. As of now, no suspect or motive has been determined**_," the anchor said through the TV.

This woke up Lavinia, who had been sleeping for about 45 minutes. She slowly started to open her gray eyes, yawning and staring at the TV, listening to the anchor as well as watching the images on the screen, where police and coroners were investigating the scene and carrying a semi-full body bag.

"_**Police and the state coroner are puzzled at the cause of death, as the victim was missing both of his legs and one arm, and his throat completely missing from the front of his neck. Police say quote, 'it is inhuman'. Police also advise for locals to be vigilant of their surroundings. More on the story after these messages**_…"

"That can_not_ be Mr. Jingles," Ray speculated.

"It can't be," Xavier agreed. "Because if they're describing him with limbs and his throat missing, that isn't something he seems to do to victims."

"I agree," Lavinia said wearily, but then she verified to make sure what she heard was correct, "did they say his legs and one arm was missing?"

"Yes."

"How the _hell_ would Mr. Jingles even have _time_ for that?" she questioned.

"She also said it was… inhuman," Brooke pointed out. "I can't even imagine what that could mean."

"That sounds weirdly similar to the murders my cousin was investigating with LAPD," Xavier mentioned. "Bodies literally torn open, like some _animal_ got to them."

There was a silence. Lavinia speculated what it could be that caused the murder at the gas station. Could there be another killer on the loose, much more perilous and lethal than Mr. Jingles? The thought crossed her mind as she heard an all-too-familiar voice from behind her, while she herself was sideways on one of the sofas.

"Boys and girls together after dark?" Margaret Booth's voice boomed through the cabin. "What did I say about this?"

"We could be in real danger, Miss Booth," Brooke said. "We are just trying to stay together."

"You're in danger, all right," Margaret replied, clasping her hands down in front of her, "from sin."

Lavinia sprung up from where she had been laying and crossed her arms over her shoulders: "alright, I believe in God like the next person and I pray, too, but we _really_ do have a problem here. That man we found vanished, and now on the news a guy was ripped apart at the…" She paused and thought, "_gas station_… where _we_…" She looked at the rest of the crew, recognizing the scenery from the news segment, "got gas before coming here."

"Was that the same guy?" Montana asked.

"Not sure, but we have bigger fish to fry, Miss Booth," Lavinia replied, directing the response to her boss.

"It's bad enough the locals think I am crazy for opening this place back up," Margaret said, "but I _refuse_ to let fear dictate my life." She paused and looked down at her watch. "Lights out in twenty minutes. It is way past our bedtimes, and we have a very big day tomorrow. Boys, remove yourselves from temptation."

Lavinia was disgusted when Chet said the following: "are you going to make us _pray_ the _boners_ away?"

"A clean body makes for a clean mind and heart," Margaret challenged. "You should wash up, so you are refreshed for morning prayer."

Margaret was the last to leave, looking back at Lavinia as Xavier, Chet, Trevor and Ray all left the girls' cabin. She shut the door, and the minute it was closed, Montana grabbed a beer out of the cooler and scoffed, cracking it open and taking a sip.

"That bitch needs to get laid," she said with annoyance, "otherwise, this is going to be one, long summer."

"Why is that your answer for everything?" Lavinia asked with annoyance.

"Oh…" Montana chuckled, "_tsk_." She sipped her beer. "Just when I thought I met the last virgin in America."

"Not funny," Brooke retorted.

"Hey, it's fine, whatever," Montana said. "Maybe this will be your year."

"I'm fourteen." Lavinia rolled her eyes. "I don't think I even like boys."

"Oh, you're a lez?"

"I… uh, no!" Lavinia shook her head vehemently. "I… just don't… think…"

"What?"

Lavinia sighed: "My dad would kill me. I promised him. We have a weird relationship, but I still promised him. So, I just avoid it. Never did _anything_, not even a kiss, let alone at a summer camp. I was a kid and had other things on my mind."

"Never even been groped?"

"No!"

"I was in front of a Sam Goody," Montana said. "Trauma is a bitch. I was six when I was sent to a fat camp. I was chubby but still kinda cute. I never had been away from home before, so I was really scared. Every night, I prayed for the sun to come up when under the covers. Every shadow in every corner was the boogeyman."

"Did it help?" Brooke asked.

"No. Only taught me to nom and vom," Montana revealed. "Just… don't think the worst, even with things like sex and relationships. If you imagine the worst, only the worst will come."

"The worst has already happened to _me_," Brooke said.

Lavinia's gray eyes widened – how could this sweet, innocent young woman have gone through so much in her relatively short life? She sat and listened, looking at her.

"Well, I was going to get married last summer. Joey Cavanaugh was the first boy I ever loved, first I ever kissed. We were at the altar, and reciting our vows, and suddenly there was a change of heart in front of me…" She sniffled, "and he accused me of cheating on him with the best man. He was jealous at times, but I thought it was because he loved me. I knew it was bad luck before the wedding for him to see me, and his friend I invited over to keep me company. We never did anything. I was saving myself for him… but that did nothing. All that happened, was that he turned a gun on my father as well as the best man, and then himself. Everyone ran out of the church, and I was there… my wedding dress, covered in blood…he told me I didn't deserve to wear white."

Lavinia could clearly picture it, but who the hell would be that crazy to not pay attention to the jealous factor with her groom-to-be? That was what she asked herself. It just sounded preposterous. Montana gave her response without thinking.

"He wanted to own you, Brooke," she said. "He wanted to own your pussy, your mind. He thought it was all his, and the idea of you getting your rocks off without him _drove him nuts_!"

"But you see, I didn't do anything! I would have _never_ cheated on Joey," Brooke said sadly through tears. "He didn't believe me. Then again, no one ever believes me."

"I believe you," Montana said.

"As do I," Lavinia concurred.

Just then, she heard a loud, distinctive sound. It was that of an animal, but it was like wolf out of a movie. Lavinia looked out the window and saw the moon was full, but it had stopped raining. It glared down on her like some vicious omen. Full moons were times she was especially forbidden to be outside at night. She did not know why he was so adamant with it, but all she knew was that during the goings-on of the evening, she had broken one of her promises to him.

* * *

The black Lycan had mostly travelled on all fours at an inhuman speed through the wilderness of southern California, heading toward Camp Redwood. A trip that would have taken two hours from the seedy, small-time gas station by car took only forty-five minutes as he used his keen sense of smell to sense where the camp was. The Lycan followed the scent of blood, as that was stronger than tracking down a scent left on something he held to his nose or remembered from before. His target's blood smelled very much like his own, but that isn't who he found laying on the side of the road next to an empty car with headlights still on.

He crawled over, his hulking mass peering over what looked to be a woman faced down on the road in a puddle of her own blood. Using the tip of his snout, he turned her over and saw a deep wound in her neck as the source of the bleeding. He also peered down near her ear and saw that it was missing, and the stump was dripping blood all over. One leg on the woman's body appeared to be broken in a few places, as though someone with heavy boots stepped on it. The Lycan whimpered softly, and looked ahead, sprinting forward, but when he did, he could feel something large and sharp going into the pads of his hind paw.

"ARRROOOO!"

The Lycan squealed and howled in pain, rolling over on his side to weep and bite at the afflicted paw. His icy blue eyes glowed at the sight of a large caltrop that had possibly been used to give the car this woman was driving in a flat to stop her. Yet, as his eyes glowed, he peered down at his paw to see the wound healing before his very eyes. Once the wound turned into nothingness, the Lycan howled up to the sky and pressed forward, but not before taking the intact leg of the woman's corpse between his teeth and dragging her off the road.

* * *

"Did you hear that?"

Ray, Xavier, Trevor, and Chet were all walking to the boy's cabin after being told to leave by Margaret from the girl's cabin. They all decided to use the time to shower before their big day tomorrow, their first day on the job as camp counselors. Xavier turned to Ray and shrugged, shaking his head.

"Probably some wolves," he responded.

"Like _that_? Sounded pretty close," Ray thought aloud.

"If it is, then it is. Just act big and it'll go away," Trevor advised.

Just then, all of the lights within walking distance went out. The post lamps, lights within the cabins, and even the lights in the bathrooms and showers went out. The men tried to look at each other, nothing but the moon shining high above, lending its light.

"Well, looks like we are going to have a harder time finding the soap," Xavier joked.

"I don't want that happening," Ray chuckled, "especially with Hog over there."

"Hey," Trevor said, knowing who he was referring to, "it takes more than it gives. Cost me a Jane Fonda video. Most girls can't handle it."

The men proceeded to strip down to full nudity, and that was when all of them could see Trevor's pride and joy. It was humungous, easily eleven inches flaccid. Ray rolled his eyes and started the water, putting the soap necklace around his neck as he wet his hair.

"Yeah, I bet when you get a boner, you get lightheaded," he remarked.

"So, what _do_ you guys do?" Trevor asked, "since you are here for the summer."

"I'm in the medical field," Ray said.

"Sure, you are," Chet teased, starting his water and lathering his soap against his skin. "You wipe drool off corpses' mouths and mop up shit."

"Hey, don't call them corpses. They're human beings," Ray retorted, lathering soap on himself. "They're still aware, just in comas."

"Yeah, a vegetative state," teased Chet.

"My patients feel and hear. I know it," Ray said. "There is even a song written about it… what's it called?"

"Coma Chameleon?" Chet laughed.

"What?" he asked.

"Yeah, check out the lyrics," Chet said.

He started to hum, and Ray shook his head: "shut up, it's going to be stuck in my head!"

When they finished in the shower, they got dressed and made their way out of the boy's cabin to the fresh, night air outside. The lights were still down, which made the atmosphere quite eerie. Yet the moon beamed down at them with adequate light to see each other. However, as they turned to their left, they could see a body sprawled out on the terrain, his neck still spewing blood. It was of a middle-aged man in what looked to be a fine, lilac-colored suit. Ray let out a shriek of shock, which startled everyone else present. Xavier looked at the man's body with wide eyes and gagged deeply at the sight.

"Blech!" he gagged.

"Jesus Christ… Jesus Christ… Jesus Christ…" Ray repeated.

"Will you stop saying that?!" Chet shouted. "Geez!"

"We got to get him to a hospital!" Xavier said, nearly crying. It was almost like he had a special attachment to the man who was now dead.

"Poke him with a stick," Chet instructed. "He looks like he is dead."

Ray took the nearest twig from the ground and poked the body's side, but it barely budged.

"Check his pulse!" Xavier said frantically.

"That throat wound, he's dead," Trevor said, shaking his head as he noticed another detail. "Wait… h-his ear is missing."

"_What_?! This can't be! This murderer can't be here!"

"No, this isn't some night-stalker crap. This looks like Mr. Jingles. His ear is missing," Trevor noticed. "He must have been checking me out or something through that hole in the side."

"We're fucked!" Chet screeched.

"We need to book it the fuck out of here," Xavier said. "We need to get the girls, now!"

The men in the crew sprinted toward the trail on their way to the girl's cabin, but then a few of them struggled to make out what was heaping over something with its back turned, nothing but the moonlight to provide illumination. Xavier, Chet, Ray, and Trevor stopped, frozen with trepidation, to see a twelve-foot creature, covered in black fur with pointed ears, growling and grumbling as it appeared to be eating something. Xavier nearly gagged again to see, with the lights in the dark, that it was a doe.

"What is that thing?!" Ray screamed.

"RUN!" Trevor ordered.

Then, the mysterious creature turned to face the men, growling menacingly as its eyes flashed a bright, icy blue. The men barely hesitated and ran in the other direction, but it provoked the blood-mouthed beast to chase after them in a wild pursuit through the dark, moonlit woods.

* * *

"OPEN UP! OPEN UP!"

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Brooke jumped up from her bed, trying to go to sleep in the late night as she heard vehement banging on the wooden door of the cabin. Montana and Lavinia also woke up, and Brooke opened the door with the men flooding in and barring it behind them. Lavinia was alarmed, and looked at Xavier, Chet, and Ray panicking. Trevor just looked petrified with shock, barely able to say a word.

"What happened?" Brooke asked.

"This…_thing_…" Ray began.

"It was HUGE!" Xavier said. "Double our heights, covered in hair…"

"Was it a bear?" Montana asked, sluggish from napping.

"No, not a bear," Trevor said quickly.

"No way it was a bear. Bears attack when provoked. This thing did not look provoked. It looked bloodthirsty…" Xavier described tearfully with fear. "It… it's eyes glowed blue at us."

"It killed a doe," Ray said. "I can't unsee it"

Lavinia got up from the bed she was sitting on and looked at the men with horror: "are you _sure_ it wasn't a bear?"

"Positive," Ray said. "You should have seen it, or wait, I take that back."

"We need to get out of here_ now_," Trevor said sternly. "We could die if we stay here for one more minute."

"I hope the van's lines weren't cut," Xavier said.

"I have a Ninja. I can fit someone in the back," Trevor said.

"What's that?"

"A badass motorcycle," Montana said, licking her lips at Trevor.

_Is that all you care about_, Lavinia thought before looking around the cabin for something she knew how to use for defense. She closed her eyes to compose herself before being led to one of the closets in the cabin. She opened it and found a shotgun, unloaded, but with shells conveniently placed on the single shelf built into it. She took them out, as well as the shotgun. She wasted no time and started to load it, even though it was different than a rifle she had more experience with. She sat down, catching the attention of the others. Brooke gasped.

"Where did you find that?" she asked.

"Where does it _look_ like?" Lavinia retorted, loading the gun and hinting at the open closet door.

"A rifle?" Trevor asked.

"Shotgun."

"You should give that over," he said.

"No."

"You're too young to be-"

"NO, damn you!" Lavinia shouted. "I _do_ know how to use it!"

At that moment, the girl had to resist the urge to point the gun in his face. Trevor was alarmed by her temper and chuckled nervously until there was a banging and a clinking sound at the door. It could only be one person, and at that moment, it was Xavier who started to cry. When he spoke, it was with remorse with anguish.

"I should never, ever have let you guys along… this is all my fault," he wept.

"What do you mean?" Montana asked with disbelief. "This is _not_ the time. There is a killer outside that door!"

"I just wanted to get away!" he sobbed. "Camping, fresh air, canoeing, archery…"

"Stop wigging out, man!" Chet pleaded harshly. "This is _not_ the time! Man up!"

"That guy near the showers we found right after," Xavier continued. "His name was Blake, he came here to find me, and now he is dead!"

"What are you_ babbling_ about?!" Lavinia asked, looking at him as she pointed the gun toward the door from where she was standing.

"You knew him?" Ray asked with shock.

"Yes, and this is my punishment!" Xavier cried out. "That man saved me, and I repaid him by running away."

"Saved you?"

"Yes… I was in MacArthur Park with a needle in my arm, covered in my own piss," Xavier confessed. "Trying _so hard_ to make it as an actor…"

"It's going to all be okay, none of this will matter if you just-"

_BANG! BANG!_

"There has to be a back door!" Brooke shouted.

"Right…" Lavinia thought aloud, looking behind her for a split second and seeing there was one. "Oh! Look!"

"BOOK IT!" shouted Chet.

Yet the other side was no safer – the crew ran out of the cabin, only to hear a roar and howl in the distance. Montana and Xavier were the first to be startled, but Lavinia was confused. The men all knew and had seen the source of the sound before, but the women did not. Brooke shivered in frightening anticipation as they booked it out of the cabin toward the direction of the van Xavier rented. Lavinia, still with the shotgun in her hands, struggled to keep up, and before she knew it, should feel the tightening grip from the waist up of something absolutely ghastly. She tried to look back, or shoot the gun, but she could not move. All she could hear was growling and animalistic, primal grunting as well as the worried screams of her newfound friends from nearly twelve feet above the ground.

"LAVINIA!"

"LAVINIA! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?!" This scream sounded all too familiar, like Brooke's.

"Of COURSE, the girl with the gun gets taken!" Xavier screamed.

There was a sudden growl from the beast, recognized as the Lycan that killed and devoured the doe less than an hour, and it was all Lavinia could hear. She felt like she was going to get whiplash in her neck from how she was being held. She could not scream, she could not beg to be released, she could not shoot the beast. She was trapped, with no one to help her as she was taken off into the wilderness.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**So… our Lycan friend has taken Lavinia into the woods. Will he kill her?**_

_**Find out next chapter! Stay tuned!**_

_**In the meantime, leave a Review, and be sure to Favorite and Follow!**_


	6. Chapter 5: Into the Woods

**Chapter 5: Into the Woods**

Lavinia was struck silent, screams buried in the recesses of her throat as this massive, hairy creature grabbed her and took her away from the chase that ensued. Strapped to her back was the shotgun, but she was constricted by the hand-like paws that held the upper half of her body. It was a wonder she was still able to breathe, because its grip on her was so tight she felt her bones on the brink of breaking. As they furthered away from the trail and deeper into the dark, moonlit woods, Lavinia spurted out the first words she could speak in those dreadful five minutes.

"L-Let me go!" she blurted.

_THUD!_

With that, the creature dropped Lavinia onto the terrain. It definitely hurt, considering she had a shotgun strapped to her back. She winced in agony, before gaining the strength to stand up and point the firearm up at the creature. Her finger was on the trigger, but it was shaking just like her entire body at the sight of a twelve-foot, werewolf-like creature with pointed canine ears, razor sharp teeth which were bore to her in defense, glowing ice blue eyes that were menacing and apathetic, and claws on both the front and hind paws that dug into the earth beneath their feet. It reminded her of a dog looking to bark at something trivial. The growling pierced her eardrums, and the creature's snout moved closer to her. Lavinia cocked the gun.

"I'LL SHOOT!" she shouted.

_RAWR!_ It roared.

Lavinia pulled the trigger, and made the creature fall on his side against the black, cool earth. Her eyes widened to see that she missed vital organs, and she was disturbed to hear a whimpering sound that was loud, guttural, and much like a domesticated dog in pain. It pulled at her heartstrings a bit, but then she remembered what this thing was. It may have been like a massive dog, but it was a dangerous creature.

"Why did you take me from them?!" she shouted.

The creature howled in such a way that it sounded like words wanted to escape its mouth. Lavinia shook her head and took a risk – she put the gun on her back and crossed her arms. She suddenly was unafraid of this perilous giant. It kept howling at her until she looked to see the glistening patch of blood on its fur vanished. She dared to move a little closer and reached her hand up. The creature seemed calm, and when she felt for a wound where she shot, she did not feel one. It was like the wound was never there save for the traces of blood. At this moment, the creature was sitting upright like an alert dog, its hind feet flat and near its front ones. Its blue eyes just looked down at her, a calm countenance on its face. Lavinia realized something and put the shotgun down next to her on the ground, putting her palms facing the creature to show she was not going to harm it or defend herself from it.

"You're not going to hurt me," she said calmly, drawing a conclusion. "If you did, you would have by now."

The werewolf-like creature laid submissively on its front much like a domesticated dog, and listened to every word, even though it could not communicate to her like she was.

"What _are_ you?" she asked.

The creature continued to look at her and patted its paw against the ground. Lavinia sighed and shook her head.

"The late-night news said there was a vicious murder at the same gas station we got gas at," the girl said. "The police say it was an inhuman attack." She paused. "Was it _you_?"

There was a whimper from the creature, and Lavinia shook her head.

"Your mouth has a little blood on it," she remarked. "Was it from that?"

No answer – not a growl, nor a whimper. Just a blank but intent stare from the creature. Just then, Lavinia glanced up at the sky to see the moon was full. She sighed and looked at the beast.

"I guess this is why my father doesn't let me out when the moon is full," she chuckled. "Running into creatures like you is a possibility."

The creature did not seem to like this statement. It growled at her, and whimpered, as if taking offense to what she said. Lavinia rolled her eyes and took a step back, prompting the large creature to sniff at her as if getting to know her.

"Okay, okay, no offense," she added. "I didn't mean it like _that_. My dad is just… weird, sometimes, I guess." She continued. "We had a dog, an Alaskan malamute. She was so beautiful, her name was Snowpea. She was so protective… I was six when my parents divorced, and…she went with my mom when she left. I miss her to death. I wonder if she's still alive. She calls me twice a year, but she never mentions Snowpea. My dad had a _very_ special bond with her." She paused, looking at the creature sitting submissively. "You kind of remind me of her laying like you are."

The creature howled, pointing its mouth and snout to the sky, where the moon beamed down at them through the trees. Lavinia nodded impressionably, and sat down against a tree trunk, resting her head back against the wood. The beast got up on two legs, much like a human and walked over to her, and she suddenly shuddered with apprehension. She was relieved when it laid down and wrapped halfway around the tree, much like a big dog snuggling with its owner.

"Okay, uh… I…" She was speechless, about to stand up, but she felt trapped against the tree trunk by the large, wolf-like anthropomorphic being. "There's a killer on the loose out here… and I think it's a bad idea to be out in the woods like this."

_Grrrr…._

"What?" she asked in response to the creature growling with disapproval. "I have people looking for me!"

_Arrarroohh…_ The creature sounded like it was trying to speak.

Lavinia shook her head: "fine. I'll stay, but don't you _dare_ try to attack my friends. I don't really have any friends at home, and it's nice for a change to have some."

* * *

"Lavinia? Lavinia?!"

Brooke was calling out in vain – the crew stopped running, feeling as though they lost Mr Jingles who had been trailing them violently, but there was the situation of Lavinia being snatched up by a mysterious, hairy creature that could only be imaginable in film and fiction. She could have been eaten alive, clawed open, or maybe there was slim chance she was alive and killed the beast with the shotgun. Trevor rolled his eyes and shook his head, stopping to take a break from moving.

"Stop," he commanded. "You're going to attract attention."

"What if she's dead, though?" Ray asked, "she is _too young_ to die, and that _thing_ has her."

"We need to get to Rita or someone for help," Xavier said. "I haven't seen her all night pretty much."

"What's _she_ going to do?" Chet asked sarcastically.

"Maybe there is a phone in her cabin!"

"Fuck the phone!" Chet shouted. "I want out!"

The crew begged and pleaded for Chet not to leave the group, but he disobeyed. Ray, Xavier, and Trevor ran after him, leaving the two girls behind just far enough for them to see what was going on. Brooke and Montana noticed Xavier flashing a light he had on him downwards into what seemed like a well or pit. They moved closer and saw it was a pit. Brooke was horrified to see Chet's shoulder impaled on a punji spike, one of many that were sticking out of the bottom of the pit.

"Chet?! What's going on down there?!" Xavier asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm DYING, you fool!" Chet screeched back in agony, the blood spewing out of his upper left rib cage. "D-Does it look like I'm okay?! HELP ME OUT!"

Brooke and Montana were looked at by Trevor, who initiated an order: "go get help _now_! Find Rita."

"What if-"

"_Now_! His life is on the line!" Ray exclaimed.

The two young women made their way in the darkness through the woods to the nurse's cabin, where they found it in disarray. Cabinets were open, and medical supplies were tossed about the room. Some of the pieces were on the bed, the IV pole connected to the line used for the hiker who disappeared tipped over on the floor, the saline bag having burst like a balloon. Brooke and Montana looked at each other and then around, until a voice caught them off guard.

"What are you guys doing out of bed?"

They turned to see it was Rita, the tall, black nurse, still in her clothing, her arms crossed as she looked at her two coworkers. Brooke held her hand to her chest, while Montana did the talking fearlessly.

"Rita, we need help. Chet got impaled on a stake in a pit, and we need a phone _now_!"

"Impaled?"

"Yes, his heart doesn't look like it is hit, but," Brooke said, "he could die!"

"The phones are down," Rita said, looking at the girls.

"We have to go and get help then!" Montana said.

"And leave your _friends_ alone to fend for themselves?" Rita asked. "They wouldn't bail on you like that if you were in danger."

"But we are ALL in danger, and we are not bailing!" Brooke argued.

"You're right. Go and get some help," Rita said.

Brooke and Montana tried to leave the cabin, but each of them felt a sharp pinching pain in the sides of their necks, and a strange fluid going into their flesh. Montana was the first to try and fight back, but they collapsed to the floor before they could. They were severely disoriented and looked up at Rita with shock even though they seemed to each have triple vision.

"You should see the looks on your faces right now," the nurse smirked. "You both look so confused!"

"You bitch!" Montana grunted.

"My legs!" Brooke whined. "I can't get up…what did you give us?!"

"Horse tranquilizer, I think. I'm not_ really_ a nurse," confessed the tall black woman still holding one of the syringes. "My degree is actually in psychology."

"What the fuck are you…doing here?!" Montana asked, getting weaker by the minute.

"All in the name of science," Rita smirked devilishly.

The two girls faded in and out of conscious, hearing only bits and pieces of a disturbing monologue directed at them, talking about her true intentions. Rita was in fact not Rita at all, but someone else entirely; someone more qualified, someone more sinister than she was no-nonsense.

"It was too easy," she said. "My name isn't actually Rita, but the nurse coming here?_ She_ was. I am Donna Chambers, and this was for my PhD. Since the mid-seventies, there has been a rise in violence, and I have made it my mission to crack the code behind what makes a killer kill. The serial killer was my focus, and I found the case about Benjamin Richter… Mr. Jingles," she explained with a light cackle. "I went to that asylum, and I did what Dr. Hopple couldn't. I cracked open his shell. It was like breaking a toothpick. I had sat down with some of the _worst_: Ted Bundy, Gary Ridgeway, John Wayne Gacy, William Bonin, Robert Hansen, and they too had their lips sealed tight until I cracked them open to talk. I don't believe anyone is inherently evil, including Mr. Jingles. It was best to study him in his _natural_ habitat. Here."

Montana and Brooke closed their eyes against their will, the drug in their blood stream as their heads hit the wooden floor. Rita, now revealed as Donna Chambers, put the syringe she was holding in her pocket, withdrawing the needle attached to the tube and putting it aside.

"It was so easy, and he was willing with a push to help me. We just needed to get rid of that pesky guard, pull the alarm, and have him meet me back here. In the meantime, I assumed the _real_ nurse's identity." She paused. "Don't worry, I didn't hurt her. Some sacrifices have to be made in the name of science."

* * *

Xavier, Trevor and Ray all tried to figure out how to get safely down into the pit with the punji stakes to get Chet out of it. He had still been impaled, and Ray could tell from a distance that he was feeling faint. Chet whimpered softly in agony, in tears as he saw the men standing around. His vision was blurry, on the brink of fainting, until he caught a glimpse of Ray climbing down into the pit with the help of Trevor and Xavier, who gingerly lowered him and ensured he was safe. When Ray was down in the pit, the two men said something that made Chet's stomach turn.

"We have to get help," Trevor said.

"No, no! NO! Please don't leave me down here!" Chet shouted at the top of his lungs, screaming in agony.

"Hang in there! Ray will get you out! We will be _right back_, we promise!" Xavier said, holding his hands out in front of him to promise reassurance to the two in the pit. "Stay quiet, okay?!"

Even Ray was anxious as he quickly approached Chet, but also careful enough to not get nabbed by one of the punji stakes. Chet looked at him, pleading for release from the pain and agony. Ray knelt on the bare earth and put his hands on Chet's shoulders to assess the damage, and shook his head.

"I'm sorry to say this but," Ray began, "if I pull you off, you may bleed to death. The only thing keeping you alive is that stake."

"Oh, no…" Chet shut his eyes and sobbed. "_Please_… make it stop! I hope that's not your… official medical opinion."

"It won't matter if we don't find a way out of here," the young black man said, sitting next to him. "We better wait for help, because you may die if I pull you off."

"The whole point… is to keep us in," said Chet weakly. "It's a punji pit… e-ever see First Blood?"

"What?"

Chet let out a cough: "the Viet-Cong made these in order to catch GIs in Nam. Jingles was a vet, remember?" He sighed, feeling his consciousness drop in and out of reality, his vision blurring, "he probably dug this up."

"Or maybe that other_ thing _trying to kill us," Ray speculated.

"Not… likely," Chet muttered, his skin blanching white as he felt faint.

"Oh, no," Ray said, going closer to him to try and keep him conscious and aware of his surroundings, "don't you die on me!"

"I…I just…"

With that his eyes closed, and Ray started to tear up. He did have the sense, though, to feel for a pulse on his wrist and throat. He could feel a faint pulsating sensation under Chet's skin, and he tried to keep Chet conscious even though his eyes were closing. When a half hour of Xavier and Trevor being gone went by, and Chet seemed fully out of it, Ray was still next to him and started to speak.

"Are you awake?" he asked.

No answer.

"I…have to get something off my chest," Ray said sadly. "I have never told anyone this."

Chet was still unconscious, and still impaled by the spike.

"I was in Omega Xi, a fraternity. Hell week was always bad, but my junior year, it got out of hand." He paused. "You see, we were initiating new frat brothers. All dressed in sailor uniforms, had to jack off and nut in a period of time… but this one, Chan, he was so drunk he couldn't see straight. I teased him, called him a lightweight…" He sniffled, "I took him aside and gave him ten minutes to sober up, take a nap, pull the trigger if he had to… but his pants were still down, and he took the wrong step… he was trying to go downstairs but he tumbled down. I thought he broke his neck. We thought he was dead. It was an _accident_."

No reply from Chet whatsoever.

"So… I did what I thought was right, to keep my frat brothers and myself out of jail, but did it _really_ matter how the accident happened? I staged a car accident. I put him in a beat-up old Camry and started the engine from the window, gave it a push, and Chan woke right up. He was alive, and I…I knew I fucked up. He was alive, and I was sending him to his death. I tried to get him out of the car, but I couldn't. I wasn't fast enough. It just went tumbling down the hill, and it was totaled. Chan did not survive that, needless to say…" He looked down. "I still remember his face, how he looked going down the hill. I couldn't show my face in classes or on campus after that. I dropped out. That's why I have that _shitty_ job at the hospital."

Chet was still unconscious, but Ray continued.

"Everyone thought he simply went missing but… just before coming here, a few days ago, the Times reported that the car was found, with his body… and it is only a matter of time before they find my watch. That is why I am here, I am running." He sighed, but the relief was temporary. "It's good to tell someone.

"That is fucked up, man." Chet's reply was weak but forceful. "I heard everything."

"It was an accident! I swear!" Ray cried. "Please… just…"

He knew full well that he was in even hotter waters when confessing his deed to Chet. He was told to stay and try to help Chet, but his freedom was more important. He went to climb up the wall of the pit, leaving Chet to scream after him to make him return.

"COME BACK! PLEASE!" he sobbed. "I swear, I won't say a word! Just please don't leave me down here!"

"I'm not dying down here with _you_," Ray said contemptuously, finally reaching the top of the pit and running off.

He went into the woods by his lonesome, careful of his surroundings, either vigilant of Mr. Jingles or the terrifying Lycan that would rip him to shreds without hesitation. He managed to hide in bushes at hearing suspicious sounds, but he was not so lucky going down the path. Ray managed to get a hold of the Ninja that Trevor said was his. He got on it, and without any second thoughts, he sped off down the road with it. This was his chance at freedom, right?

Not really.

"Suck a nut, Camp Redwood! See you in another life!" he shouted.

Those were his last words before his head came off at the blade of an axe. The one holding the handle? Mr. Jingles himself.


	7. Chapter 6: Revelations

**Chapter 6: Revelations**

It was about five minutes after Ray left the punji pit that Xavier returned and went down into it to retrieve Chet. By this point, Brooke and Montana had not returned with any help at all. He was still impaled, and in and out of consciousness. He gingerly went down, trying not to be jabbed himself, and went over to Chet, who looked at him with distressed, tearful eyes.

"Xavier! You're here, thank God!"

"They didn't come back?"

"No! I'm stuck, you got to get me out!" Chet cried.

"You're going to bleed out," he whispered. "Everything will be okay, but…" Xavier teared up, "if I kill you doing this, I am _so sorry_."

"Just try your best, and _get me off_ this thing!" Chet exclaimed. "Better you than Jingles!"

Xavier was very ginger in his attempt. He held the sides of both Chet's arms, and pulled him off the stake at the count of three, but had to cover the wound with his hand. Chet screamed in agony at the sensation, but that pain led to relief. He was no longer impaled, but he had to get up to the top of the pit. Trevor, who had also returned, waited for him at the top, and the entire way up, Chet winced and cried in severe pain. He could feel blood pouring out of him, down his chest and back, to the ground as Xavier and Trevor supported him all the way to the nurse's cabin, where they laid him down and used surgical scissors to cut open the front of his shirt.

"I don't feel so good," Chet groaned, coughing gently, "is this what dying feels like?"

"Everything will be okay!" Xavier said, trying to encourage him.

"He's lost so much blood," muttered Trevor, but Xavier noticed him pull out what looked to be a syringe. "Here, let's try this."

"What the hell is that?"

"Uh, it's epinephrine," Trevor said, "for allergies and stuff."

"Will that even work?"

"It won't make him any worse."

_JAB!_

The rather long syringe was plunged into the base of Chet's ribcage, and for a split second, they didn't think it did any good as Chet was unconscious. When he burst to life before them on the bed, the blood spilled out of the wound in the same way a massive pimple would be popped.

"WHAT HAPPENED?!" Chet screamed, looking down at the steady stream of blood squirting from the wound. "Why is my heart beating out of my chest?!"

"At least it's _beating_," Trevor said. "We need to bandage you up. Ray needs to get back here right now with help."

"He's a choad!" Chet screeched, grunting in pain as Trevor worked to dress the wound. "He left me for dead!"

"What do you mean?" Xavier asked.

"He said he killed some guy in college. I was half-faint but I could hear every word," Chet explained.

"And I thought being in porn was bad," the blond man revealed.

Trevor and Chet both looked at him with shock: "_what_?!"

"Uh, nothing… uh… Blake… the guy who was killed outside the showers? He came in a Cadillac," Xavier explained. "_That_ is our way out of here!"

"What about the others?"

"Yes, we cannot forget."

* * *

Lavinia was hyper-alert at her surroundings while also watching the massive, twelve-foot Lycan sniffing the ground around where it had taken her. She clutched the shotgun to her chest, ready to cock it at even the slightest sound in the shadows. Alas, there was a rustling, and the sound of running and she stood up from where she sat against a tree trunk. Springing to her feet, she was in full defense mode, and it seemed the Lycan also detected potential danger. She got ready to aim, pointing the shotgun at the head of a shadowy figure and firing the gun.

_BAM!_

The girl could not believe her eyes when she saw the body fall forward, a decent portion of his skull and brain blown off his head from her shot. Her gray eyes widened in the darkness as the moon illuminated none other than the body of the hiker who disappeared mysteriously from the nurse's cabin after all of the crew, Margaret included, saw his bloodied, dead body on the floor. He had disappeared without a trace, but how? How exactly did he survive such a heinous attack? Did Lavinia actually put the last nail in this poor man's coffin?

Running over to him, she felt herself start to panic with the Lycan just behind her, snarling and growling as if she had just killed a snack for it. She started to scream at the top of her lungs, crying her eyes out, traumatized by the sight of the dead man a second time.

"HELP! HELP! AHH NO!"

Her voice got hoarse, using her hands at the sides of her mouth to amplify her screams for help. Without any hesitation, she got to her knees and did the first thing that came to her mind – praying. She knew it would likely not bring this poor hiker back, but she was way overdue considering she helped cover up that fact he was hit by their van before arriving. She made the sign of the cross and continued, clutching the silver Orthodox crucifix pendant she had been wearing the entire time.

"In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit…" She sobbed under her breath, muttering her prayer, clutching the pendant so hard that she could feel the metal digging into her skin. "Angel of Christ, holy guardian and protector of my soul and body…" She stopped, her crying getting more intense by the minute, "probably not anymore, though… but… PLEASE! PLEASE, forgive me of everything I have done to offend you every day, and protect me from all influence and temptation of the…the _evil one_. May I never offend God by my sin EVER AGAIN!" She started to cry loudly, attracting the attention of the Lycan. Her crying was so intense, she could not even finish her formal prayer. Sobbing became hysterics, and she continued to shout. "GOD, FORGIVE ME, PLEASE! It was an accident, I swear… _everything_, please! Even when Xavier hit him with the van… I lied and helped cover it up with them…but why, WHY, by Your grace is he alive?"

The Lycan whimpered behind her, until Lavinia opened her tightly shut eyes to the sound of a bark and growl. Looking before her, he was gone without a trace. Her heart raced to the point of near fainting as her brain tried to compute what happened. She just saw this man die by her hand just moments before, and even before that, she saw his corpse bloodied and mutilated in the nurse's cabin. Everything was gone; his body, the brain splatter, the blood, the skull fragments. Then, she heard a voice.

"You shouldn't be here!"

She turned around to see something that made her nearly collapse. It was the hiker, his skull and head fully intact, dressed in an oh-so-outdated outfit like he had been dressed in before. His long, shaggy brown hair was kept in a vertical headband, and he looked like he was rolling in dirt before approaching her. Lavinia approached him slowly, but the Lycan was ready to charge.

"NO!" she shouted, looking at the beast. "Don't you DARE hurt him, you _animal_!"

The girl pointed the shotgun up at the Lycan, who surprisingly was not angry with her nor was it provoked to attack her. She was surprised when she directed the Lycan to go off into a corner, because it did exactly as told and curled in a way that reminded her of her once-beloved dog. The hiker, however, looked horrified. Lavinia looked at him with smiling gray eyes and nodded.

"God is real," she said with amazement. "I don't believe it. How are you _alive_? I saw you _dead_! TWICE!"

"You shouldn't be here!" the hiker said with worry. "Please, leave while you can!"

"We are trying, believe me," the girl said. "Hey… uh…"

"I know you. You look the same!"

"Uh, yeah… remember? You got hit by accident by the van we came in? You were in the nurse's cabin?" Lavinia asked, trying to evoke his memory.

"I thought she was dead…" the man said.

"Dead? Who? Who was dead?" Lavinia asked.

"She looks so different now!"

"Wait…" She put two and two together – no one would say something like that unless they knew someone for a number of years but failed to keep in touch or see each other. Her instincts told her to ask one question: "uh… do you know what day it is? Year?"

The answer floored her: "1970." He paused. "I tried to stop him! I let her die! I let them all die! I tried to get help."

Lavinia was struck silent for a moment before opening her mouth: "uh… you're… dead? Already? Since… 1970? Are you talking about Margaret Booth?"

"Yes," the hiker replied.

"And what is _your_ name?" Her gray eyes were agape, and her lips were parted.

"Jonas," he said. "I'm a counselor here."

"Not anymore, you're not. You're dead," Lavinia challenged. "I don't know _how_ I am seeing or talking to you right now, but… you're not a figment of my imagination."

"I heard him, the keys!" Jonas said emphatically.

"Mr. Jingles?"

"Benji," he replied. He paused. "Am I really dead? Am I a ghost?"

"What do I look like, Dan Aykroyd?" Lavinia chuckled. "I think you are. No other way to explain what I have seen this entire night."

"I let so many people die," cried Jonas, looking down at the ground, "I am a coward."

"Listen, you are not a coward if you got hit by a van and got your brains blown out by me," Lavinia said. "You're badass if you ask me!"

_Grrrrr_….

The Lycan was growling from afar, catching Lavinia's attention. She saw its blue eyes glowing at the sight, and they looked to be staring off into space. Lavinia turned to look at Jonas, only to see he disappeared once again into thin air. She nodded.

"He's a ghost," she said to herself. "I knew it!"

* * *

Brooke and Montana, previously injected with tranquilizers by the fake nurse, revealed to be psychologist Donna Chambers, both woke up in a dark, damp cabin that looked to be isolated from the rest of the camp. Brooke's legs still felt wobbly and her head felt like someone smacked her on the back of it with a billy club, whereas Montana was fueled with enough rage to attack and kill Donna herself if she were present. Montana looked over at Brooke and sighed, shaking her head.

"I am going to _kill_ her," she grunted.

"We have to find a way out first. Where are we?" the other girl asked timidly.

"A cabin… but…"

Montana's dark eyes looked around, trying to find a way out, all the while trying to remember the last thing that they saw; a dirt road as her eyes closed was all that came to memory. She found the door of the abandoned cabin ajar, and stood up, trying to keep her balance. She did not even bother to help Brooke, who was slower to get to get to her feet. Brooke held her head with pain, looking at the door and heading toward it with Montana.

"What are we going to do? We are in the middle of nowhere!" Brooke whimpered.

"Just… come with me." Her voice seemed quite irritated with Brooke, but she did not take it personally because Montana was the type to physically attack someone when furious like she was at that moment. Both of the young women screamed as they ran into the woods, trying to desperately get help.

"HELP! HELP US!" Brooke shouted, trying to reunite herself with the group.

"HELP! RITA ISN'T WHO SHE SAID SHE IS! HELP!" Montana added, projecting her voice even louder.

It was all in vain – they suddenly felt like they were being taken up off the ground and closer to the mid-canopy layer of the trees. Brooke looked around in shock to see she was surrounded top to bottom in a thick rope net, as was Montana. They were squeezed into this net made for only one person, and it was extremely uncomfortable as there was barely enough room and the rope constructing it itched against their skin. The voice they heard next was not a shock, but infuriated both of them, especially Montana, even more.

"Ah, typical textbook victim mentality, safety in numbers. I knew you'd go left. The other way led to the road. You both could have been home safe."

It was Deborah Chambers, looking up at her sinisterly. Brooke put her hands on the ropes that kept her bound, suspended in mid-air as her eyes looked through the holes at the tall, black woman who drugged her.

"On second thought, no," Deborah added. "I put bear paw traps there, so… no luck there, honey."

"WHY, Rita?!" Brooke screeched.

"I swear, if I get down from here, I'll cut your _fucking_ throat!" Montana threatened.

"Not my name, remember? I'm not even a nurse. I'm a psychologist," said Donna. "After I set Jingles free from that asylum, I took Rita's place and name to be with him here."

"_You're_ behind all this?!" Montana and Brooke shouted in unison with disbelief.

"Nah-uh, it's not what you think," Donna chided playfully. "I am doing this for science! I have spent most of my life studying how and why men like Benjamin kill, but there is only so much we can learn from an animal when he is caged. It is better to study him in the wild, to see if he is willing to take a life served on a silver platter or during the thrill of the hunt. I'm the scientist, and you are my text subjects. Thank you for your sacrifices, each of you, as women are most likely to be victims of serial killers."

"NO! LET US DOWN!" Brooke cried out as she saw Donna fade in the shadows.

Montana grunted and aggressively tried to rip open the ropes, but her palms only hurt and got scraped in the process. She took her switchblade out of her pocket and started to cut the rope open in a straight line. Brooke sighed with relief to see that she had something to get them both out of there.

"Thank God!" she said.

"Shut up!" Montana grunted.

"Uh… I… I just…"

"I said…" The blonde's eyes looked coldly back at Brooke, "_shut up_."

Her change of attitude, tone and demeanor made Brooke wonder why she was so up-in-arms. Was it because they were almost bait for Mr. Jingles? Was it because the ropes were tough to cut, and it was frustrating as a result? Thoughts ran through her mind as Montana slipped down through the hole she cut for herself, and when Brooke tried to get out of the same hole, she fell face first into the ground of the clearing, where she felt someone on her back the minute she tried to get up.

"No."

Brooke looked up and saw Montana looking down at her with cold, angry eyes: "what?! L-Let me up!"

"God. You're always playing the victim. Your crying, screaming, your weakness, you're so fucking timid," Montana sneered. "You act so innocent, but I don't buy it. I see you for who you really are. You're a black hole where light goes to die!"

Brooke turned around and sat with her knees up on the ground, getting Montana's foot off her back: "what are you _talking_ about?!"

"People pin me as the bad girl? Why? Because I have rad hair?! Because I act on my feelings?! WHERE IS MY SYMPATHY?!" Her screams were full of passionate, heated anger. "Sam Duke was the best man at your wedding. It wasn't even _his_ fucking wedding, and you _KILLED _him!"

"I swear, I never cheated on Joey with him!" cried Brooke, standing up, "you have to believe me!"

"He was my brother," Montana growled, "and you took him from me, the only person who ever truly loved me, and the only person I ever truly cared about. It's_ your_ fault he is dead!"

"PLEASE! No, I am so sorry for your loss, but I did NOT take him from you!" Brooke sobbed, fearing for her life. This girl had befriended her, and now she was turning on her like this meant nothing at all. What would Lavinia say about this, considering she was a mutual friend at this point? Was she even alive?

"You fucked him and lied about it, knowing full well Joey would kill him. They were roommates and college, and my brother _still_ had to suffer. So…" Montana held her switchblade out loosely, the metal gleaming in the pale moonlight, "why the _fuck_ should you live while he is gone?"

"Please… please!" Brooke said, trying to reason with her through tears. "You don't have to do this! I did not take Sam from you. You didn't even know me or Joey until…"

"Until I realized he was the best man at _your_ wedding," Montana challenged ferociously.

"You don't have to do this! Please! There's already a killer after us, and some _thing_ took Lavinia! Please…" She tried to stay calm, hoping it would make a difference between living or dying, or between being scathed or unscathed, but was too scared to hold back tears. "Please…"

Montana was silent for a moment, thinking before she charged at Brooke with the switchblade. With the blade out at the ready, she straddled Brooke's hips and began to cut and stab her in a blind rage that had only built up over the last year since Sam was killed that fateful day. Brooke tried to shield her face and upper chest, but felt the blade slicing into her hands, causing varying depths between gashes and abrasions. She screamed, and with a degree of success, she pushed Montana off, but this only provoked the blonde even more. She growled loudly and pushed Brooke back onto the ground face first, pulling her dark hair back and putting the tip of the knife near her throat.

"HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY!" she screamed.

"You'll never see another sunrise for what you did!" Montana said, still gripping Brooke's hair and bashing her face forward into the dry, dirty terrain, causing a lot of pain in her cheekbones, forehead, and nearly breaking her nose. Brooke screeched, until there was the sound of footsteps in the distance. Some felt a bit heavy against the earth, vibration as they drew closer.

_BAM! _

There was a gunshot fired off into the sky, and Brooke felt relieved as she felt Montana get off the back of her. She groaned in pain, and heard a familiar voice as Montana held her bloodied blade out to defend herself in order to continue her attack on the young woman she wanted revenge on. Both were shocked to see Lavinia, a bit dirtied up but alive nonetheless, holding the shotgun and staring off in their direction, unable to see who it was.

"Who is that? I'll shoot if you come near me!"

"Lavinia! Please! HELP ME!"

The girl's eyes widened as she saw Brooke, moderately beaten up with cuts on her hands, forearms, and shoulders that were barely covered by tears in her sweater. She ran to her and helped her off the ground and hugged her tightly, shaking as she felt Brooke's anxiety and terror at the incident Lavinia barely knew about.

"What the hell is…" Lavinia looked over to see Montana with a bloody knife, "Montana?! What the fuck?!"

"Y-You're alive," the blonde stammered.

"No shit, I'm alive! I had to run from that _beast_ because I heard screams for help," Lavinia explained heatedly. "What the hell do you have your knife out for?!"

"She attacked me! She's blaming me for her brother dying at my wedding! I SWEAR, I DID NOTHING!" Brooke cried.

"Brooke," the girl bravely said, putting her hand on her shoulder gently, "move aside."

"But-"

"Move _aside_!"

The girl's assertive tone made Brooke compliant, and she walked weakly off to the side, where she heard a deep growling in the trees. She shrieked suddenly, and looked at Lavinia, shaking even more.

"That thing again! HE FOLLOWED YOU!"

"Beast," Lavinia called out behind her, "don't you _dare_ harm my friend!"

_Arrooooroooohhh…_

"You_ talk_ to that thing? Are you going along with it?!" Montana asked suspiciously.

"I don't even fucking know," the girl replied, "all I know, is you're batshit crazy. Did you seriously try killing Brooke, even though we already have _one_ killer on our tails?!"

"She took from me the one thing I cared about!" Montana shouted. "She deserves to die!" She raised the knife and moved a bit closer, but Lavinia raised the shotgun barrel to face the girl she once thought was her friend, too.

"Are you serious? You're going to attack _me_, too? What the fuck did I do to you?"

"Siding with her, siding with the enemy," Montana said. "Oh, yeah, you're all talk, you know. You're going to shoot me?"

"I just may. My Holy God, forgive me, for I am an unworthy servant," Lavinia said, the second part of her sentence a brief mutter.

_Grrrr….._

The growling came louder from the trees, and Brooke ran off so that she was still able to see Lavinia and Montana start to quarrel, knife to gun. Lavinia looked back, and sighed.

"I don't know why, but that beast is _very protective _over me. Think twice before you think it's smart to bring a puny little knife to a gun and wolf fight," Lavinia scoffed, teasing Montana.

"You have a lot of nerve," she grunted.

"Why? Because it's going to end badly for _you_?"

"You're a fucking kid," Montana chided. "I'll cut you like a bitch! You're a traitor, going with that…that… _thing_!"

"Just try to cut me. You'll be pumped full of lead _or_ ripped apart. You choose!" She paused. "Disclaimer, I _really_ don't want to stoop to your level, but you're threatening _my life_ now."

"I'm taking it!"

With that being shouted into the night air, Montana charged at Lavinia with the switchblade, and Brooke watched from the distance as the fourteen-year-old with the shotgun fired at Montana's shoulder and then her kneecap to disable her. Montana fell to the ground, and both Lavinia and Brooke ran into the trees on the other side, surprised by a grand entrance made by the twelve-foot, black Lycan that had been keeping close, glowing blue eyes on the scene. It leapt and startled Montana, whose puny switchblade was useless against the gnawing, razor-sharp teeth, talon-like claws and massive size and strength that was her fate. The Lycan pinned Montana to the ground, and as she let out a bloodcurdling scream, she could feel her insides start to be clawed out and eaten right on top of her, in front of her very eyes; her entrails, stomach, liver, heart, and her rib cage was even broken just to get at the latter of these organs.

Lavinia and Brooke were on the verge of vomiting into the bushes that concealed them, and they struggled to look away. They were amazed at the same time; this creature seemed to have an almost-human quality to it, and it was strangely protective over Lavinia – _why_, she thought.

* * *

Trevor, leaving with Xavier from the nurse's cabin where Chet laid down under a warm blanket to prevent shock, had the idea to go where no one had the chance previously – Margaret's cabin. Xavier had gone to see where the car was that Blake came in before he was murdered outside of the showers earlier that night. He approached her private cabin gingerly, keeping watch of his surroundings until he heard a jingling sound. His heart dropped in his chest, and he put his back to the outside panel of the cabin to hide. Yet, he noticed that the jingling came from the inside of the cabin. Was Margaret in danger? He heard the dialogue faintly and peeked into one of the windows he was adjacent to.

"Benji," Margaret said, suspiciously cheerful, "you're the answer to my prayer."

Trevor looked down at the ground, listening intently. This did _not_ sound like a woman who was afraid of Benjamin Richter, aka Mr. Jingles, let alone a _victim_ of him all those years ago. Why was she calling him by such an endearing nickname? His heart raced as the conversation continued from within.

"Why did you come here?"

"To finish what I started," Benjamin said. His voice sounded flat, emotionless, and even a little sad.

"What_ you_ started? Oh, you poor man. You didn't stand a chance," Margaret had replied. "You were convicted, locked up, probably had electric shocks, but whatever they did to you, made you forget. They made you think you lost your sense of reality, that your time in the jungle made you lose all sense of judgement."

"No!" the man shouted. "_You_ were there! _You saw me_! You saw me kill them! I was the killer!"

"You really have forgotten everything, haven't you?" Margaret chided with a cheerful tone. "Like the _promise _you made to me, that they would stop bullying me, that they would stop tormenting me!" She paused. "You told me you would protect me, and do _anything_ to protect me, but you were _weak_. You didn't do a _thing_. They kept at it, constantly, daily, with their teasing and taunting. So… _I_ made it stop."

Trevor gasped, hearing this crazy twist of events unfold practically right in front of him in earshot. Margaret had been the one to perpetrate the massacre at Camp Redwood back in 1970, but what about Benjamin himself? Did he do anything at all? Was he really an innocent man locked away for fourteen years for something he didn't do?

"No, that was me!" Benjamin challenged. "I _did_ collect ears in Vietnam!"

"And I used that. It was too good," Margaret said without any sense of humanity in her voice. "I _made_ you keep your promise. You protected me when you took the fall." She paused, "I tried to come back and do some good, and maybe put it all behind me! I wanted to be an example for the future campers of Camp Redwood, but _you_ showed up and made sure that could never happen. We have come full circle, Benji!"

There was a silence, and for once, Trevor could hear humanity in Benjamin's cracking voice. He had no tears, from what it sounded like, and he spoke with such conviction. The last fourteen years of his life were an absolute lie.

"_You_ did all of this. You told everyone on national television I was a killer. You had me locked away in an asylum. I was _tortured_ with electricity, shot up with drugs, all until I believed what you said I was, and now you tell me that I was never any of those things?"

_Siiiiing_… Trevor could hear something sharp being pulled out of a holster; no wonder Benjamin was so out of touch – he was framed and wasted so much of his life locked away. That is enough to drive a man absolutely insane.

"Well… fuck you, Margaret!" he spat. "I am the monster you made me!"

"No, you just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time," she said cheerfully.

There was a gunshot, which made Trevor open the other door of the cabin and see that she shot Benjamin in the thigh, making him fall over. As he collapsed, Trevor shouted, startling Margaret.

"Is this all true?!" he said loudly. "Are you _insane_?"

_POW!_

Another gunshot from her pistol hit Trevor on the upper right shoulder, making him fall back. He was not weakened, so Margaret tried to shoot again, but she was too late as Trevor crawled rapidly out of the cabin, his screams for help like a beacon in the wee hours of morning.

"HELP! HELP ME!"

_STAB!_

He could feel his back being stabbed, a blade going through his ribs over and over, and barely any words were said by who did it. Was it Jingles? Or was it Margaret? He looked back and tried to turn around, and it was her. Her face was the last thing he saw before fading out of consciousness for good.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_Ah, a long one folks! I want to thank those who have left Reviews and are following the story. I am glad to see you are enjoying it. I am having a blast trying to come up with things to write for this fanfic (even taking some artistic liberties), but it isn't possible without you guys!_


	8. Chapter 7: All Ears

**Chapter 7: All Ears**

Brooke and Lavinia ran into the woods from the sight of Montana being torn apart by the black-furred Lycan with glowing blue eyes. They refused to look behind them, and they were swift enough to move unscathed through the wilderness. They finally stopped at a clearing, and Brooke leaned forward to catch her breath. Lavinia leaned back against a tree, the shotgun strapped to her shoulder as she had not real words to express how she felt seeing what she did.

"Holy shit… holy shit… holy shit…"

"Stop saying that!" Brooke shouted.

"I can't unsee that," Lavinia said aloud, breathing heavily. "I cannot… like… _why_ would that thing not devour _me_? I don't get it!"

Brooke was still breathing heavily as well, but collapsed to the ground, sitting and looking up at Lavinia: "I'm shocked, too, but I've seen enough tonight to shock me."

"No shit."

"Rita isn't really Rita," the brunette said. "You got to believe me."

"Why wouldn't I believe you, though?" Lavinia asked, taking a seat about three feet across from Brooke on the ground. "Unless, you've lied about something, which…I don't see you doing."

"No, no! Rita is actually… someone else," Brooke said, regaining her breath enough to speak quietly. "Her name is Donna Chambers. She's a psychologist and we are all part of some twisted experiment!"

"An _experiment_?" Lavinia was dumbfounded. "Here?"

"Yes. She released Mr. Jingles from the asylum…wanted to see if he could kill us, basically…" Brooke took a dry swallow, looking down with contemplation before meeting Lavinia's gaze. "I wonder if _Margaret_ knows…"

"Margaret," Lavinia repeated. "Shit. Come to think of it, she hasn't been around this entire night pretty much. I wonder if she is up to something."

"Why haven't police been called?" Brooke questioned.

"Not sure…" She paused and looked up at the moon, which was losing a little of its luminosity in the wee hours of morning. "I still don't know why that beast is so fixed on me."

"Montana was threatening our lives," the brunette said. "I did not expect such a change in her!"

"Why exactly was she trying to kill you?" Lavinia asked.

"She thought that I took her brother away when he was killed at my wedding." Brooke's eyes started to tear up, and Lavinia shook her head. "Sam… he was Joey's friend and the best man. He shot my father _and_ Sam… seems she was very attached to him… as any person would be their brother…"

"Hey…" Lavinia said, trying to console her friend. "We are going to find a way out… and _maybe_ what is up with Margaret. All of this will be behind us… even though we can't unsee…"

_Grrrrr_…

There was a growling not far from where they were. Lavinia sighed and nodded.

"Well… I guess my father sent me here to die," she said.

"Why would you think that? He couldn't possibly-" Brooke was cut off.

"I was conceived out of wedlock," Lavinia said. "My parents _had_ to get married. My father's family is _very_ religious. My mom is Catholic, but not as hardcore as the Russians are. Getting rid of me was not an option. I've just been a burden since the day I was born."

"I'm sure your father meant well sending you here. How could he have even known about Mr. Jingles and all of that?"

"I made these _promises_ to my father, but I don't think they mean much, well, except praying. The other ones were no boys and no being out on a full moon. I can't avoid being around Mandingo Trevor, but this?" She looked up at the moon, "I can't avoid this. I'm sure he'd understand if he knew what the hell we've been through so far."

_Grrrr…. Arooo…._

There was the sound again, a little howl added to the menacing growling. The massive Lycan was closer through the bushes. Lavinia kept her composure, while Brooke felt her anxiety going up about her surroundings.

"We need to run," Brooke said frantically. "He'll tear us to pieces, too!"

"No, it won't."

"Are you crazy?!" the brunette asked.

Lavinia rolled her gray eyes and got up from where she sat, cocking the gun to be at the ready: "look, if it was going to kill us, it wouldn't have saved us. Make sense?" She paused. "Now, come on. We need to get to the others."

* * *

Xavier was still trying to find Blake's luxury vehicle that he arrived in. He had walked across a bridge gingerly, trying not to fall into the creek below. He felt tired, so he collapsed against the railing of the wooden footbridge, catching his breath. He closed his eyes, feeling the moonlight glaring down at him. Then, he heard a heavy, jingling sound. His blue eyes were jolted open, and he saw no one but Mr. Jingles limping toward the footbridge. Xavier kept his composure, his heart accelerating as his blood ran ice cold. Was his time up? He observed that he did not even take a knife out. In fact, he was bleeding from his leg and limping.

Before a scream could escape his throat, Xavier could hear Benjamin, aka Mr. Jingles, talking to him: "it wasn't even me."

The tone was morose with disbelief. He slowly opened his eyes to look up at him, confused. He _had_ to be the killer chasing them the entire night, in addition to the hairy beast that was on their collective tail about an hour or so before. Xavier was confused, and when he blinked, he just watched the large man in the leather jacket with a loaded keyring hanging off his pants step over his legs and walk in the direction behind Xavier. He was still limping, and a few drops of blood fell onto the footbridge. He had a frozen expression on his face in pure disbelief – did Mr. Jingles spare his life?

Suddenly, he could hear running in the distance, nearing the footbridge. He looked over swiftly, and then back in the direction Benjamin walked in, past him, sparing him completely. When he looked the other way toward the direction of what sounded like two pairs of feet running, his eyes widened to make out Brooke and Lavinia in the distance. The shotgun was still strapped to the girl's shoulder, and he could see her sighing with relief, not hesitating to make it toward the footbridge and help Xavier back to his feet with Brooke.

"Oh my God," he said. "You're alive!"

"Yes, I am," Lavinia replied, "but why the hell were you just down?"

"I saw… Mr. Jingles…" He gulped dryly, pointing in the other direction.

Lavinia and Brooke looked at each other with confusion before looking around in their immediate vicinity.

"There's… no one here," Brooke said speculatively.

"He went that way!" Xavier said.

"And he _spared_ you?" Lavinia asked with a curiously strange expression.

"He only said…one thing," Xavier gestured, holding his index finger up, "that…"

"What?"

"It wasn't even him."

_BOOM!_

Before the two females could ask him to elaborate, the three could all hear an explosion in the distance complete with fire burning. Xavier's heart raced, leading them to where he could follow the sound. They sprinted, and they knew they were near as they could smell smoke from within the trees. It smelled like burning tires, and the source was confirmed when they spotted Blake's Cadillac engulfed in flames upon arrival. Beyond the flames, Lavinia spotted Margaret and Chet, who was still badly wounded from being impaled. Chet looked at her wide-eyed, shocked she was still alive after being captured by the Lycan.

"What the hell?!" the girl asked in a shout. "Who did this?!"

"That," Xavier said, pointing his finger wearily toward the burning vehicle, "was our last way out."

"What happened?" Brooke asked. "Was anyone in there?"

Margaret's demeanor was suspiciously calm for what was before them, and she seemed to feign sadness. Lavinia was observant of her body language when she heard the following: "it was horrible. Jingles was attacking me! I thought I was dead, but…" She turned her face to the side, as though she were producing crocodile tears, "he was _so_ brave. Jingles killed him."

_What a fucking liar_, Lavinia thought as a million things raced through her mind. She struggled to process the claim that she was being attacked, yet she could not visibly see any bruises, scratches or even cuts from the blade of Mr. Jingles. She knew full well, from being pursued by him earlier in the night, that a man with a height like that would overpower someone like Margaret, who was only a few inches taller than Lavinia herself. Had Jingles really killed Trevor as he was trying to save her? Suddenly, she felt a presence nearing her, and she paid a gaze to Margaret, who held out her hand.

"Please, Lavinia," she said rather kindly, "come with me, away from this."

"Why?"

"I've been concerned," she said.

Lavinia, thinking about the inconsistencies with her claims, nodded and went along with it but did not hold her hand: "so have I."

* * *

In Margaret's cabin, there were no bodies to be seen, and the blood from Benjamin's leg wound and Trevor's gunshots to the chest seemed to be cleaned up well. Lavinia looked around within and held the shotgun in front of her as if ready to use it. There was already a fireplace going, providing light, and Margaret was sitting down on the sofa in front of it. She gestured Lavinia to sit in one of the chairs across from her, and she did, slowly and carefully, in case she had anything up her sleeve. _I don't trust her_, she thought to herself, _not at all_.

"You can put that thing down," Margaret suggested calmly. "I won't hurt you."

"Well, after the night I've had, I've learned to expect the unexpected," Lavinia challenged, setting it down on her lap so she could readily pick it up for use if needed.

"Have you prayed for help from our Lord and Savior?"

Lavinia sighed: "I've prayed more than a nun tonight already. I even thought I killed someone on accident."

Margaret's eyes widened through her glasses as she leaned in closer to listen with interest: "oh?"

"Yeah… I don't want to get into it," Lavinia replied.

"But it _was_ an accident… right?"

"Yeah, but it turns out… he wasn't even really dead, not _by me_, anyways," the girl said.

"By who? Do you know?"

"No, I don't, but it could be Mr. Jingles," Lavinia shrugged, looking down at the shotgun, "or _you_."

Her eyes widened a bit and she gave a nervous chuckle: "me? How could you think I had anything to do with that?" She paused. "You saw my ear, where it had been cut off by Jingles."

"He said he knew you," Lavinia clarified. "I'm not pointing fingers, but he said he knew you. He told me his name was Jonas. First thing I see is his brains splattering all over the place when I shot him, thinking he was someone else, and I was praying for forgiveness like a _fiend_… and then, he was gone. He was unscathed, standing there within seconds."

"You are a very observant girl, Lavinia," Margaret replied. "Jonas… he was a camp counselor here all the way back in 1970. I worked with him. His death was indeed very tragic. Mr. Jingles got to him, but he was hit by his car when the massacre was happening." She paused. "I saw his lifeless body with my own eyes, but he has haunted these grounds in a permanent state of amnesia for_ fourteen_ years."

"I was right. He's a ghost," Lavinia expressed. "I never believed in them much until tonight."

"They are in the Bible, so they are real," Margaret said.

Lavinia took a moment of silence and looked at the fire in the hearth. Should she mention the inconsistencies with her claims of being attacked by Mr. Jingles? She debated doing it, but then it slipped without thinking.

"You have no cuts or bruises," she said, sounding like she was muttering.

"What was that?"

Lavinia's gray eyes looked coldly at Margaret: "I said, you don't have any cuts or bruises, and you say Mr. Jingles attacked you."

"He did," she repeated.

"Hm. It's just that…" she thought for a moment, "I'd think a man of that size would absolutely _crush_ someone like you in a struggle."

Margaret was silent, not responding to the girl's inquiries about her claims, whether they were true or not. Lavinia continued, seeing Margaret stand up and walk slowly toward the desk toward the front of the cabin. She also stood up and held the shotgun in front of her with two hands, her knuckles turning white as Slavic snow.

"And why haven't the police been called? Oh, phone lines are down. How convenient, Margaret," Lavinia smirked with sarcasm, knowing full well she had her pinned. Yet, she changed the subject entirely, and Lavinia tensed up when she saw Margaret pulling something out of the top desk drawer. Was it a gun? She was at the ready, willing to shoot her in self-defense, praying to God for forgiveness in her mind. _Forgive me, O Lord, for I am your unworthy servant…_

"You're a disciple of the Lord, so you would know," the woman said, holding what she pulled out of the drawer, "that one of the great things about God is that you can use him to explain why something happened, or why you did something, even something horrible. Isn't that great?"

Lavinia shook her head: "why are you telling me this?"

"You told me you know _one person_ close to you in your life who prays because he has an unforgivable sin he's committed. Your father," Margaret said, "he must have done something horrible, and does just that, using God so he doesn't have to feel so bad about what he has done."

The girl shook her head: "no, that isn't true. That's _his_ words, not mine. For all I know, he may have tried to be gay in his youth but married and had me to try and put it behind him." She chuckled at the thought, but her face drew back into a serious expression. "Maybe he still tries to meet men during those three nights of the month, but who the hell knows? I don't even know and I live with the guy. I do _not_ imagine he has ever killed anyone or anything really bad like that."

"Revolting," Margaret said under her breath.

"But hey…" Lavinia distracted the woman from the drawer she had opened, "what's that you pulled out?"

Margaret finally held up what she pulled out, walking toward Lavinia who maintained her composure like a British Royal Guard. As she drew nearer, she could see it was not a gun at all. It was a small miniature wooden bear painted brown with little details like a hat and neck kerchief in yellow. She glanced at Margaret, who held it out to her to show her, and Lavinia sighed breathily.

"What is that?"

"A dear friend made this for me all those years ago," she revealed. "We worked together, and he promised me he would always protect me. My life was made miserable by these girls who worked with me here fourteen years ago."

"And…is he around?"

"He's as alive as ever," Margaret said with a nod and an inhalation. "I don't suppose you know what that's like, being picked on and teased."

Lavinia looked down at the shotgun and nodded to humor her, even though she was not lying in the slightest: "butch, lesbo, muff diver… I've heard it all." She paused. "I'm going to high school this fall, a _different_ one in LA, so… I won't be seeing those bitches ever again."

"Have you ever told anyone?"

"Not really."

"Why?"

"Because no one would believe me, or say they were just joking. That isn't funny, though. Men _repulse _me, but I don't think I'm as far as… _you know_… being on the same side of the fence."

Margaret asked something that shocked Lavinia: "did you ever consider hurting them, just to make them _stop_?"

"Not really," she replied, "I'd go to Hell if I did what I _really_ wanted to do to them."

"Not if you're doing the Lord's work," Margaret said.

"But that's not the Lord's work at all," Lavinia challenged. "That's murder, one of the Commandments. Thou shalt not kill."

"The Commandments can be broken in certain circumstances, if God allows for it," Margaret said.

"Look, lady, I don't know where this shit is coming from, but we are probably being scouted for right now, and I really do not want to be stuck in here, talking to you, about what God wants or says. You're not a priest, so I suggest you shut up."

She walked out of the cabin, the shotgun strapped to her shoulder and walking until she heard a growling sound. She closed her eyes and sighed, looking behind her to see the twelve-foot Lycan standing on two legs, looking down at her. How Margaret did not hear this beast's approach from inside her cabin was a mystery to the girl as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Okay, pal," she said.

_Aroooaroooo…_ The Lycan sounded like it was speaking to her, and she giggled.

"Look, I can't understand dog or whatever you're speaking, but… thanks for not killing me or Brooke, I…"

She looked to see the Lycan was pointing his snout over toward the dining area of Camp Redwood, a mess hall in a cabin run by Bertie, the chef. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach, as she went without hesitation to the area. She looked around until she could smell the rot of a fresh body. Near the back exit of the cabin was none other than the corpse of Bertie, her head, arm, and leg torn off her body with the latter two parts eaten down to the bare bones. Blood soaked the ground, and entrails spilled out of her torso. It made her as nauseous as seeing Montana ripped apart by the beast, but she had no stomach contents to puke up in response. All that came from her were dry heaves before cocking the shotgun and shooting up at the beast, hitting its shoulder once again.

_BAM!_

"You ate the _fucking lunch lady_?!" she screamed.

_BAM!_ Another shot to the Lycan, hitting his stomach and making him wail out in pain.

"Stop it! THERE IS ENOUGH DEATH AT THIS CAMP!" she screamed, starting to cry. "Please… just _please_, take me…"

_Aroooaroooarooo_! The Lycan seemed to protest in its unique howl-like speech toward Lavinia.

"WHY THE FUCK WON'T YOU KILL ME? HUH?" screeched the girl. "It's OBVIOUS my father sent me here to die! Just FULFILL HIS WISH!"

_Arooaroo…hooo_… The Lycan wailed like a said puppy wanting affection. It laid submissively on the ground, neck upright, and looked at Lavinia with glowing blue eyes.

"Oh God, what the fuck do you know? You're just some _dumb_ beast. You're not even a dog," Lavinia said tearfully.

_Grrr…._

"You're going to kill me now? Huh?" Lavinia asked in a panic, practically begging for death at this point. She had seen far too much for someone of her age and experience. She managed to cock the cock repeatedly and start shooting at the Lycan with no spot in particular on its body, a fit of rage and frustration coming over her.

"ARGH! Let's see if you kill me now?! Hopefully you understand, I'm a THREAT! A THREAT!"

Lavinia's show of words and anger did nothing to provoke the animal to attack her. It seemed like the Lycan was impervious to the blows from the shotgun, something that would kill a mere human. She watched the wounds heal over like they were never there, with only small traces of blood drying to its black fur. Lavinia sighed tearfully and shook her head, dropping the shotgun and attempting to walk away.

"I cannot kill you," she said with mild frustration. "Even if I try." She paused and looked back at the creature, on the hedge of the clearing where the center of the campsite was. "You saved my life a few times tonight. This is… no way to repay you, even if you are just a _dumb_ beast."

_Sniff-sniff_…_rooroo_… The Lycan seemed calm, listening submissively to Lavinia.

"The forest is your habitat, and you are a wild creature…" she continued, looking and making eye contact as its eyes glowed azurely at her. She picked the shotgun back up and put it over her shoulder. "We are just humans invading it, like we've always done… it's in your nature to kill, but… to be loyal to those you… care about…"

She continued to walk toward the woods and continued, looking back at the Lycan: "I have loyalties, too. I won't be gone long. Stay put…"

As she went off into the darkness of the wee hours of morning, the Lycan got on two legs in a humanlike manner and made a triumphant, mighty howl to the full moon above, the very celestial body that influenced his very existence.

* * *

Back at the cabin, Margaret had congregated with Xavier, Chet and Brooke, who were left of the crew after the deaths of Ray, Montana and Trevor to devise a plan for escape from Camp Redwood's horrors of the evening. The final solution was to take a boat across the lake to meet with two campers Margaret claimed to have seen earlier that night. Chet, still badly wounded from the punji stake, agreed to go along while Xavier and Brooke stayed behind in the hopes that Lavinia would return to them. Margaret, a more experienced rower, took the oars and had Chet push the boat into the water from the lakeshore. Chet looked around him attentively, still in a great amount of pain from his injury, as the boat moved over the water beneath them.

"I don't even see a light," Margaret said, glancing back behind her.

"Don't worry," Chet said weakly, "we are going to get help." He paused. "We will get out of this nightmare."

What she said next shocked him to no end: "do you ever think about death, Chet?"

It caught him off guard, but he still answered as honestly as he could: "I…I thought about it a lot down in that pit. The rotting, the maggots, your insides turning to jelly. What if that's just it? You die, and there is nothing but blackness."

"You wouldn't feel that way," Margaret began, one of her trademark statements, "if you believed in God. He judges the righteous _and_ the wicked, and when death comes, it will be too late to repent."

"Thanks for the head's up," Chet rolled his eyes, finding no consolation in her fanaticism. It was getting old, frankly.

"You've lost so much blood," Margaret said, referring to his wound. "Make _peace_ with your maker! You will not get a second chance. Confess your _sins_."

"Why do you care so much?" Chet asked, getting a bit heated and annoyed by her forcing the topic of religion down his throat.

"Because I see your torment. I know you harbor a deep, dark secret. With all of that outward masculinity, it is easy to tell the real boys from the fake ones."

"You shut your mouth, Margaret!" shouted Chet angrily, feeling his heart rate elevating. "You know NOTHING about me!"

Margaret gave a stubborn sigh, stopping her rowing: "well, I tried! God is my witness."

"You think _you're _so pure? Don't _you_ have anything to confess?" Chet asked, pointing out a possibly hypocrisy he was perceiving.

"Well, I do, actually," she said. "There's nothing on the other side. I just needed to get you alone with me."

Her tone sounded rather suspicious, and he backed away from her slowly, knowing full well they were in the middle of a very deep lake. He was an Olympian-to-be: could he swim to safety if needed despite his injury? His blue eyes widened, and he stood up on the boat, looking at Margaret as she also stood up, facing him.

"Why is that?"

"To kill you."

Margaret had one of the oars loose from its setting and nearly hit Chet up the side of the head unconscious, but she missed by a hair. He was fully alert, and a struggle ensued on the small rowboat. Chet had punched her in the face twice and shouted for help even though he knew being in the middle of a deep lake was probably not the best place to do so. Margaret had pulled out a knife and had him pinned to the bottom of the boat, where she proceeded to slice off his left ear with it. He screamed a blood-curling scream, feeling the warm fluid pouring down the side of his face, down his neck, onto his clothing and into the wound in which he was impaled.

As he watched Margaret hold his bloody, severed ear in front of him, he managed to jump off the boat and into the water. He struggled to swim even as Margaret tried to throw a weighted anchor at his head to disable him more, but when he was far enough, he could feel the water almost taking him into its depths. He was now losing blood from another wound, and since it was in such close vicinity to his head and brain, it made him feel dizzy in the water. He persevered nonetheless, and from a distance, he could hear through his intact ear screams of encouragement.

"SWIM! SWIM! SWIM!" It sounded like that of a young girl. He realized who it was and swam like his life depended on it – and it really did. He was weak by the time his feet could hit the floor of the body of water, but when he collapsed at the shore, he could hear footsteps and gasps of panic.

"Oh my God, what happened to your ear?!"

He looked up, his consciousness a mere repeat of earlier, feeling faint and lightheaded beyond all measure. It was Lavinia, who looked in horror at the fact that he was alive, but with his ear severed and his blood soaking his form. She panted with fear, trying to help him stop the bleeding by having him lay on his side on the scene with his intact ear pressing against the soil.

"Who did this to you?" she asked.

"M-Margaret…" he said, quietly and weakly.

"I knew something was up with her! I knew it!" she shouted.

"Stop yelling!" Chet screeched. "First the pit, now this…"

"Hey, you're alive… c-can you stand?" Lavinia asked, standing up and reaching her hand down to aid him.

"I'll try…"

With that, he stood gingerly and carefully as to not make any more blood spill from where his ear was. However, it spilled onto Lavinia's tousled blonde hair with a bit on her Billie Idol t-shirt. She groaned at feeling this and managed to walk with him all the way back to Margaret's cabin, where Brooke and Xavier were waiting. Upon arrival, they gasped to see Chet in even worse shape than before, and Brooke was the first to come forward.

"What _happened_? You're soaked and… your EAR!"

"Margaret, that _bitch_, did this to him," Lavinia said, making Chet lay down on his intact ear on his side, as Xavier and Brooke rushed to get medical supplies from first aid. As Brooke cleaned the stump as best as she could, she dressed it and bandaged it by wrapping tape gauze around his head with a thick bandage pad on the stump.

"She did?!" Xavier asked.

"She tried to hit me…w-with the oar… and t-tossed the anchor at me… t-to slow me down in the w-water… and something… a-about confessing my…s-s-sins," Chet told them, verifying the facts. "She's… _crazy_, man!"

"She's a dead woman," Lavinia chuckled haughtily, "and she is the_ one _person I hope Jingles gets. What if all that shit by the fire was made up? Still doesn't explain what we've seen tonight! I swear, Jingles or that beast better get here soon, or _I_ will!" _O Lord, forgive me, for I am an unworthy servant_, she thought to herself.

"You'll be hurt! Don't!" Brooke advised in a panic. "You're _too young_."

"I swear, if I hear one person say I'm too young one more _fucking _time…"

"Please, Lavinia! Let one of _them_ take her!"

Without any regard to what was being said, Lavinia opened the front door of the cabin to see a not-so-strange face. It was Donna Chambers, the psychologist masquerading as a nurse at Camp Redwood who unleashed Benjamin, aka Mr. Jingles, out of the asylum and onto the grounds where he was thought to have committed the brutal 1970 massacre. Brooke gasped and was the first to speak when she saw Donna slam the door shut and lean her back against it.

"_You_! You have nerve, thinking we are going to help you after you-"

"What the hell?" Xavier asked with confusion.

"I only want to help us get out of here," Donna confessed. "That _thing_ is out there!"

"Bullshit! Get the hell out of here!"

"I thought I could help people from all over the world," Donna said sadly and hopelessly, "I would _never_ put you in harm's way otherwise."

"Why the _fuck_ would you in the first place? Is it true about this experiment, _Miss Rita_?" Lavinia asked in a sneer.

"What is going on?" Xavier asked, still confused.

"I was the one to release Mr. Jingles from the asylum," Donna confessed. "I led him here. What happened here is all my fault, and I am fully accountable."

"You… made it so this guy could _kill_ innocent people and possibly even _campers_?!" Lavinia asked. "Why? That is so fucked up!"

"I… I have my reasons…" She caved and told the truth. "My father… had very peculiar cravings. In '80, I found him in his apartment with a woman chained the bed, her guts hanging out, and he…killed himself right in front of me. I thought because I am a psychologist, I could help him… but… I just wanted to understand him!" She paused. "Before he took his life, he said that evil is born, and I am the fruit of the seed, that I had darkness in me. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps… but I could not, for the life of me!"

Lavinia rolled her eyes: "but you have! Don't you see?! You even said so yourself…" She paused. "Please don't tell me it was Jingles you were running from."

_Sh-shunk_! She cocked the shotgun and pointed it defensively at the tall, black woman. Brooke and Xavier gasped at how much guts this girl had, and how fearless she had been the whole night. Donna put her hands in the air and shook her head.

"No, you don't want to do this! Please… I have my car out in the staff parking… we all can get out of here_ now_…"

"I would love that, but not with someone who has tried to kill us pretty much," Lavinia said with an assertive chuckle. "So, get the fuck out of here…before I-"

Donna seemed more afraid of the shotgun than she did of the prospect of being torn apart by the very Lycan she was running from for a second time that night. She bolted out, but to a rather unexpected place, knowing full well she was over and done with.

* * *

"You should never have brought me here."

Benjamin, the one feared the entire night as Mr. Jingles, was sitting in the nurse's cabin with a bowl, large pliers, and a first aid kit out on the table. One of his large legs was outstretched, the one Margaret shot at to disable him. He was very much alive, and very much furious and disillusioned at the bizarre confession and plan she had created fourteen years before. His cold eyes looked at Donna as she entered the cabin, and she watched him pull the bullet out of his leg. It was lodged in deep enough for him to dig, but being a former GI, it was an easier task for him than expected. He put the pliers and bullet into the bowl and groaned in pain.

"I…I know," she replied.

"They why did you?!"

"I just… wanted to understand him," Donna said tearfully, referring to her murderer father. "I wanted to do good. Was my father just a killer? Or was he the father I always loved?"

"I wasn't always a killer," grunted Benjamin, putting saline into his wound. "In fact, _Margaret_ killed those counselors in the seventies. Not me! She said so herself…" He paused. "She made everyone believe I did it, she made _me_ believe_ I_ did it!"

"Oh…" Donna was speechless.

"Outside of the war, I didn't kill anyone until tonight," Benjamin said.

At a loss for words or actions, Donna came forward and knelt at Benjamin's feet: "then please… kill me. This is all my fault." She sighed tearfully, looking at the floor submissively. "I can't live with the darkness! Please! Do it!"

Benjamin's hand and knife were guided to Donna's throat by her own hands, and he sure would have, but he held back. He knew that this would not solve any problems created and would not make it right. He took the knife away and looked down at her, droplets of saliva breathed onto her face.

"No… I won't do it," he said, putting the knife on the table and standing up, limping toward the door of the cabin. "You will not get off so easy, because you are going to live with what you've done. There is one kill left, and it will _not_ be you."

* * *

**A/N:**

_Another long one… and yes, guys, I made some changes from the canon episodes of season 9 of AHS not only to better fit my OCs, but also because I did not like some parts. I was really upset that Margaret got away with killing Xavier, Chet, and Trevor without any form of punishment, even though I think she is the BEST villain to have ever graced the series because of her story and how she framed Benjamin in such a cunning yet extremely cruel way. I actually felt so bad for Benjamin, and John Caroll Lynch NEEDS an award for this performance! I also cringed when Xavier was locked in the oven, but I felt Cody Fern's emotion when he showed her mercy by her request. Very sad scene, but I had to do away with that, but something will be coming up hopefully in the same vein. I also thought the part with Ray's ghost and Brooke was wasted screen time when she was supposed to end up with Chet (I made him survive Margaret in this story). I also found Donna's backstory pretty touching, in the sense that she wanted to understand why her father killed, so she devoted her life to the study of serial killers. You know what they say, though, "the road to hell is paved with good intentions." She is a prime example of that._

_I also really want Murphy to add werewolves/Lycans to the AHS universe. We've had witches, vampires, ghosts, zombies, and other such beings, but no werewolves? Like, dude! What about the 1981 film _American Werewolf in London_? That would have been a PERFECT film to reference here!_

_What comes next in the story? What twists and changes will I have in store? Please Favorite and Follow, and be sure to leave a Review with feedback! See you on the flipside!_


	9. Chapter 8: Barely Human

**Chapter 8: Barely Human**

Benjamin was determined and sure of one thing – the need to get vengeance. He left Donna behind in the nurse's cabin, on a hot pursuit for Margaret, the one who made him into a monster. He did not see her very far into his venture, because she had been running toward the archery setup, but to stall her, he tossed his keys toward her feet and she stopped. She glared at him with cold, light brown eyes through her horn-rimmed glasses, and shook her head.

"Those are _yours_," he sneered. "_You're_ 'Mr. Jingles.'"

"I should have shot you in the head!" Margaret growled.

"I'm going to rip you apart," he growled.

Droplets of saliva came from between his tightened jaws, barely hesitating to grab a hold of Margaret by the throat with one hand. The other hand was reaching for his knife as Margaret struggled to hold on for dear life. He could even see her trying to reach for a weapon, but before he could slice into her abdomen with the knife he was holding, he heard a sound of flesh being shot at. He looked and saw an arrow had been sticking out of Margaret's back, and he looked beyond to see the source of the arrow. It was from the young blond man with the crew, his George Michael-esque hair shining gold in the moonlight. He smirked.

"You tried to kill Chet, you bitch!" Xavier said, holding the bow. "I played Robin Hood back in '79 at Stage Door Dinner Theater, and thanks to Camp Redwood, I am back in character!"

_Swoosh-BUMP!_ Another arrow went into her back, this time closer to her shoulder.

"OW! Stop it!" Margaret managed to choke out a few words, and she was suddenly dropped on the ground by Benjamin, the very monster she made. Suddenly a few more footsteps were heard, and Benjamin looked to see the same young girl he had stalked much earlier in the night, Lavinia, with the shotgun strapped to her back before she took it off and cracked her knuckles.

"I said she was a dead bitch, now she _will_ be," the girl grunted, charging toward Margaret, who was still on the ground.

To start, Lavinia growled as she purposely pushed the arrows deeper into Margaret's back, causing her to scream and grab the girl's wrist, taking her to the ground before her legs kicked up at Margaret and caused her to fall back, breaking the wooden arrows that were stuck in her back. Xavier, off to the side, tried to shoot Margaret with an arrow again, but missed and nearly hit Lavinia. He went off to the side, and Benjamin just watched as the girl's animalistic attack consisted of biting, scratching, and hairpulling, to the point where he could hear a tearing sound as Margaret screamed. When she picked up the knife Benjamin had dropped, Lavinia instinctively took notice and crawled toward the shotgun she took off her person to fight Margaret better, but then she felt a blade go into the back of her thigh.

"AHH!" she screamed.

"Orthodox aren't even real Christians," Margaret teased.

_BUMP-crush!_

Xavier and Benjamin, both on either side of the scuffle watching in awe at how Lavinia fought, winced and groaned in a form of sympathetic pain as they heard a crunching sound. Her face had been partially smashed by the impact of the butt of the shotgun, breaking her nose, one cheekbone, and knocking two teeth out of place. She stood up, but nearly collapsed at the pain of the stab wound in the back of her thigh, and she felt pure anger shaking through her body like she never had before. She was growling in a psychotic rage, and before she could finish her off, she felt herself being picked up off the ground by the back of her shirt, and she weakly looked to see the black Lycan pulling her away from the danger.

Benjamin and Xavier scattered like roaches away from pesticide, hiding in separate ends of the clearing from the monster as it proceeded to eat Margaret alive. Lavinia, feeling faint, had been put down near a tree trunk, in and out of consciousness due to loss of blood as she saw literal bits and pieces of the attack. She had nearly thrown up seeing the Lycan's razor-sharp teeth sever and tear her head off and chew it, skull and all before swallowing. In between another set of weary blinks, she could see that her arms were torn off and bitten through leaving nothing left but bones. There were growls, hisses, and before Lavinia fainted out cold, she could hear a triumphant howl that could be heard for miles as well as the slight hint of sunrise in the far distance.

* * *

"We have a pulse…she's alive…"

Lavinia's gray eyes wearily opened, feeling something going around the top of her arm and tightening up. She jumped a bit, and looked to see two paramedics over her, taking vitals and assessing if she was alive. She had fainted, having lost some blood from the wound on the back of her thigh. She noticed the sky was lighter, and morning had come over Camp Redwood. She took a breath and stretched her neck before answering the paramedics' questions.

"Are you alright, miss?"

"Yeah, I guess so," she said, trying to sit up. "Leg hurts."

"We noticed you had a wound. You'll need surgery to fix that," one of the medics said. "What is your name?"

"Lavinia… Volkov," she said.

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Date of birth?"

"April 8, 1970."

Then came the questions about medical conditions, medications, allergies and the like. It was a "no" for those, but then came the question about any family that could be around to report her injury and hospitalization to.

"Uh… m-my father, he's in LA, though. Ralph Volkov, that's his name," she revealed.

The two medics looked at each other strangely, and then at the girl. One of them told her: "that's odd, we just took a Ralph Volkov to the ambulance over there."

Lavinia's blank expression turned to one of surprise: "uh, _what_?" She paused. "That can't be!"

"Yes, we did bring one over. Any relation?"

"Uh… d-did he had black hair with a bit of gray and was he really tall?" she asked.

"Yes," they both said in unison.

"What the hell happened to him? Why is he even here?!"

"Miss, we are going to have to ask you to calm down, that wound may bleed out. Here, let's get it bandaged and get you to the ambulance."

"Answer my question! Please…" Lavinia said, feeling gauze and tape going around the back of her leg where the wound was through her jeans.

"I can assure you. He is alive and stable. I am sure you will be seeing him very soon," the medic said.

She was moved onto a stretcher and carried by the medics through the woods toward the heart of the camp, where she could see Brooke going with Chet into an ambulance as he was on a stretcher with a fresh dressing on his ear and where he was impaled. Once that one drove away, she could see visibly upset children, set to camp for the summer in this location, crying and talking to each other within the yellow bus that took them there. The icing on the cake was seeing her own father on a stretcher, covered in a brown blanket, presumably naked and covered in blood from his mouth down his torso. He also looked pale and sickly, sweating with the filth of the earth clinging to his skin. She was so shocked she could not scream, let alone call for him. In fact, he looked unconscious. _Stable condition my ass_, she thought with disbelief.

She was fortunately placed in the same hospital room after being in recovery for about an hour from surgery to patch up the wound left by the knife. Lavinia was lucky that the blade did not come close to even piercing the major artery. After being wheeled into the room, she looked over to see her father, sleeping back on his hospital bed with intravenous fluids being administered. He looked sickly, and she finally could say something to him.

"Dad?" she asked. No answer, so she spoke louder. "Dad?"

She could see his eyes opening and looking around the room, looking for who was speaking to him. When he realized his own daughter was in the other hospital bed, he sat up and didn't hesitate to take out the IV and heart monitoring pieces off his chest and get off the bed. He adjusted the hospital gown and looked down at his daughter, barely stumbling as he held onto the guard rail.

"Lavinia… thank God you're alive…" he said rapidly with relief, kissing her forehead. Lavinia, his only daughter, started to tearfully cry with joy, seeing him there, yet she was so confused as to why he was there in the first place.

"Dad, why were you at Redwood?" she asked. "I didn't even see you there. Did someone hurt you? Benjamin? Margaret?"

"Who?"

"Uh… Margaret, the director, did this to me. The cut on my leg. She was batshit crazy," Lavinia explained. "Benjamin was Mr. Jingles, the serial killer, but we don't really know if he did those murders at all."

"I know…I _know_ she was crazy. That is why she had to die," Ralph said without expression.

Her blood ran cold – "how did you know she died?"

This was it, Ralph's one chance to confess the family secret that had been kept for so long. For twenty-two years, he had lived as both a human and something far from that. He sighed and sat on the side of the hospital bed, taking her hand. She grew nervous but listened.

"This is not the place, but it_ is_ the time I tell you something you _need_ to know," he said.

"What?"

"Lavinia, I'm not like a normal man. I am a Lycan, or as my grandfather called it _oberoten_."

"Dad, I barely know Russian. Is it what I think it is?"

"What do you think it means?"

"Some… _werewolf_ or something," Lavinia guessed.

"Yes," Ralph said in a sober fashion. "I did not choose this. I was _born_ this way. It is _absolute pain_ every month, for three nights…my skin stretches out over my body, my bones underneath break and reform, my teeth and nails are replaced with claws and fangs, and I am covered head to toe with coarse, black hair."

"How did your grandpa know about these things, though? Probably some folk tale, but-"

"No, I _got_ it from my grandfather. He was bitten in the wilderness while hunting while the family still was in Russia. Remember, back then there was an imperial family dining on plates of gold and many people were poor and starving, so they hunted. It seems to have skipped my _own_ father's generation, and he was conceived and born after the incident. Well, look at me now. I may be last in line. I don't know about you, but… if you _do_ change, brace yourself. Even when not in my form, I still have an acute sense of smell, and I eat like I have never seen food before. I look at the moon, and I get so worked up."

Lavinia's heart dropped even more than it had; her own father was afflicted with what seemed like a mutation. This was real and sinking in deeper than the Titanic did in the ocean. Their eyes met, and she came to a realization – the brutal murder at the gas station. Was it her own father who perpetrated it?

"What about that murder at the gas station. It was on the news late last night," his daughter began. "Was that _you_, dad?"

"I…believe so, but I won't confess for sure." Ralph sighed, looking around and seeing their hospital room door was ajar. He spoke quieter: "I've eaten babies abandoned in dumpsters by moms that didn't want them. I've eaten fetuses out of pregnant women who were out and about, alone at night. I've ripped people's throats out with a single bite, and a single claw strike can make your entrails fall out. I'm not the Wolfman or something silly like that. This here is real, and dangerous. I sent you to summer camp as much as possible when you were a kid because… I-I wanted to protect you, from _me._ That's also why I forbade you from ever going out on full moons, because I would be around in the darkest of night, feeding the appetite I cannot control. If I were to ever lay a hand on you, when I am _not_ myself, I could never live with that."

"You didn't hurt me last night," Lavinia challenged. She was alarmed by the idea of her father doing such heinous acts three nights out of the month when in his Lycan form. She grew tearful and tried to hold it back. "Has this been going on my entire life, dad?"

"Yes, and even before that," Ralph confessed. "I first transformed into a Lycan at sixteen. I almost killed your mother twice. No wonder she left me."

Lavinia shrunk back in the hospital bed, trying to crawl backwards away from her father. He pleaded with his eyes to make sure she was still and calm, but she was tearful and anxious.

"No, no," Ralph said. "Please…I'm not finished."

"You almost _killed_ my mom?!" she sobbed, letting tears fall and her anger lash out: "She probably wants nothing to do with me either because I'm _your daughter_ and God only knows if I become _like you_!"

"I have held resentment all these years, but maybe it was me," Ralph said with remorse, holding his daughter's arm tightly to make her pay attention. "Please, don't look at me in any other light. I am your father, and though I may be a _shitty_ one, you mean the world to me!" He suddenly got tearful as well. "I have struggled, prayed, begged…to no avail. This is the stain on my soul that God cannot cleanse. We are all born with original sin, but I am the exception. I was born _damned_. Do you know what it is like, Lavinia?"

Lavinia shook her head: "here I am, thinking mom hated me all these years…"

"If she did, she would not call on your birthday and on Christmas," Ralph challenged.

"No wonder she left you," his daughter said, "and you _ate_ all those people, even the lunch lady, Bertie! She didn't do anything!"

"Don't you see? When I am in my Lycan form, my body isn't the only thing that changes!" Ralph stated emphatically. "My brain and mindset do, too! I would _never_ willingly kill or devour someone, in this form! When I smell blood, I can't help it. It happens. When I saw you being threatened last night, they had to suffer."

"What's with the praying and shit, though? Do you expect God to just forgive all you've done?!"

"No, I do not expect him to forgive me, but it is worth a damn shot!" Ralph cried, tearfully trying to explain himself. "I went to church like a _fiend_ around seventeen and have tried to get priest after priest to help me… but no one could. _No one_. Sometimes, I rather that my grandfather died in that attack from the wolf than _ever_ lived to help conceive my own father." He sniffled. "Witches are born, the Afflicted are made, but Lycans? If the odds are in your favor and you survive a mauling, you become one of us. Then, you pass it down through your bloodline."

"I don't want that!" Lavinia cried through gritted teeth.

"You may not _ever_ have that," Ralph said, trying to reassure her. "But I'm not going to guarantee that you won't."

"Why were you there to begin with, though?"

"I heard a news report of a serial killer being released and heading your way. I wanted to get you out of there, but then I felt myself starting to change," he said, "at the gas station. I don't remember _too_ much else except for seeing you threatened, and I stepped in. I tried to keep you away from the dangers I was sensing…and my appetites… I don't remember _who_ I tore apart…"

"You wanted to save me from Mr. Jingles?" she asked, calming down a bit.

"Yes. That was the original plan," Ralph said. "It was a _mistake_ sending you there. You were right. You could have waitressed or something, but I didn't want you around God forbid you were in my path in my Lycan form." He paused. "But… I have to say, I am so proud of you."

Lavinia's eyes widened. She could not remember the last time she was given praises. When she asked "why", Ralph's answer shocked her.

"Because I've never seen someone your age fight like you did, and I've never seen you so angry and fierce…" he said. "It was…inhuman, if you ask me."

"So… am I going to change when I'm sixteen?"

"We'll see, but I doubt it, but know this. The hallmark to any emerging Lycan is a fierce temper and psychotic rage, and fighting with tooth and nail," he explained.

So, this was her fate? Was she to transform when she was old enough? She looked down, and then out the window at the morning sun. She felt a little hungry, but extremely thirsty. She licked her lips dryly, and then saw her father look off into space, but really, he was having a flashback.

* * *

_**1971**_

"_Devochka, idi spat_."

The soft, lulling Russian phrase over soft crying could be heard from the living room of the apartment as Ralph was studying for an important exam, He was trying to memorize terms and diagrams so he could pass the following day. Due to his then-wife, Michelle, being out for the evening, he enlisted the help of his aunt Mariya to take care of his one-year old, Lavinia. Mariya was a woman who spoke little English despite being in America for over fifty years at this point. She was tall, agile, and strong for a woman of sixty-three, even though she wore modest clothing almost everyday even if she was not in church. She was wearing a muted-colored floral frock, thigh-high wool socks, and a pair of functional brown leather loafers. She walked into the living room of the apartment with the crying baby, trying to rock her.

"Raf," she said, her mispronunciation of his name. "Baby Luba not sleep."

"Aunt Mariya, I am really stressed about this exam. This could make or break me," he said, rubbing his forehead and drinking from the glass of water he had near his textbooks. "Is she hungry?"

"She not have bottle, she don't want!" the aunt exclaimed. "I not know what else to do."

"Hey, what was that lullaby you sang me once? Do you remember? You sang it to cousin Boris and he was out like a light," Ralph suggested.

"Out like light?" She did not understand the expression.

"Yeah, and Natasha, too. She fell asleep in seconds," Ralph said, trying to stimulate the old woman's memory of her own children being sung to. He began to hum a soft tune, using his finger like a conductor would when setting the tempo for a symphony. Mariya nodded and smiled, holding the baby, who was wailing louder now. She started by kissing the baby's forehead and sitting down on the rocking chair across from Ralph, who was still seated with his studying materials and glass of water. The woman cleared her throat and sang a haunting melody from the old country in her native language that roughly translated into English as:

"_Sleep my darling, tiny one,_

_Tucked within your bed so tight,_

_Or else the old gray wolf will come_

_And grab you by your side…_

_He'll snatch you up between his teeth_

_if on the bed's edge you sleep,_

_And drag you to the forest deep_

'_Neath the quaking tree._

_So, close your eyes and fall asleep,_

_Count the little wooly sheep._

_Tucked so tightly, you must keep,_

_Or he will come for you…"_

Ralph sighed and nodded, seeing his baby daughter now in a deep sleep in his aunt's arms, her tiny hand wrapped around one of her thick fingers. Mariya kissed her forehead and continued to rock back and forth in the chair. Her choice of lullaby, all sung in Russian, made him question it.

"You're going to scare her one of these days with how you sing that one," Ralph said, looking down at a diagram he was analyzing.

"She is baby," Mariya chuckled. "She not know. Your _babushka_ sang that to you when you were baby, too."

"At least she's sleeping, though." He shrugged. "I just don't want her to hear that when she's five and old enough to think a wolf is going to steal her from bed."

"Ah, _bred kakoy to_," Mariya said, dismissing his claim while holding her great-niece. "Baby kept safe by the song in Russia. Baby kept in bed, sleeping. Wolf got father, but don't get baby Luba…"

* * *

"Do you remember that lullaby Aunt Mariya used to sing you?" he asked, snapping out of the flashback.

"Yes, it was like… _bayu bayushki bayu_…" Lavinia said, turning it into a bit of singing to make him remember the melody.

"Yes… do you know what it translates to?" he asked.

"I don't know Russian," the girl repeated, "and neither do you."

"I know, but my _babushka_ sang that to me when I was a baby, too," Ralph said, sighing. "It was a song meant to scare kids to stay in bed, otherwise the gray wolf will snatch them up and take them to the woods. At least it wasn't _Tili Tili Bom_… that one made me cry as a kid._ That _one is scary."

Lavinia chuckled: "what a coincidence."

"I know, and I am very sure she knew of _deda_'s attack and the outcome, but never suspected her son to be born with the mutated gene," her father said.

Lavinia looked down at her hands, resting on the lap of her hospital gown, contemplatively: "and to think it actually, well, _kind of_ happened to me."

"You're just alive, is the difference," Ralph said with a smirk, kissing his daughter's forehead.

Their eyes diverted to the doorway, where two people were standing. One was Brooke, her dark hair slightly disheveled and walking weakly into the room to take a seat. The other was a member of the room service crew, bringing them both food from the cafeteria downstairs on a rolling cart. Lavinia's mouth watered at the food brought for them, and it was breakfast, best of all. She took the covers off the plates, revealing a scrambled egg, two strips of bacon, two blueberry pancakes with a side of syrup, diced dew melon, and in cups were water and orange juice. As if he had not devoured a few humans the night before in his Lycan form, Ralph saw he had been delivered the same thing, and walked over to his hospital bed to sit and eat at the rolling table surface. Brooke watched him rapidly take off the covers to the plates and take a bite rapidly. The room service member left, and Lavinia let the smell of the food waft in her face.

"Not as good as _babuya_'s pancakes," she said happily. "God, I miss that woman so much." She took a bite of her food and gestured Brooke to come over. "Here, sit. Have some."

"I'm worried about Chet," she sighed. "I hope he doesn't die from those injuries."

"What happened to him?" Ralph asked, devouring half a pancake in one bite and alarming Brooke in the process.

"Uh… he got stuck in a pit with stakes, and he had his ear cut off," Brooke explained worriedly. "He lost so much blood."

"I just hope he doesn't need a transfusion," said Ralph, swallowing and taking a huge sip of orange juice, "because I read recently in a medical journal about this new virus that is bloodborne and some people with transfusions have gotten it. There's no cure."

"Dad! Really?" Lavinia asked with disbelief.

"I'm serious, though!" Ralph said. "I really hope he doesn't need one."

"That's not helpful. She's really worried," Lavinia repeated.

"I just… don't want to lose him. Things have been shitty in my life up until now, but… they haven't gotten too much better, either. I can't unsee all of that. If there are two things to come from it, I have two good friends and _Chet_, really."

Lavinia chuckled, taking a bite of her pancake: "you seem to like him. A lot."

"I do."

"He seems to like you, too," she said, "and I may not really like the idea of dating much, but I am also not an idiot."

Ralph scarfed down his scrambled egg and swallowed more of his fluids: "I think we should try to be out of here by this afternoon. I know you have to recover still, with your leg, but we got to go."

"Dad, why not just keep _me_ here and you can go? You seem fine, just a bit tired and dehydrated if anything."

"You need to stay for observations, likely," Ralph predicted. "I may still stay with you, but…" He sighed, looking at her as if she knew exactly what he meant. When midnight approached, he could be certain to change for the second night in a row during the three days of the full moon. He did _not_ want to be in a hospital and kill innocent people who were there for treatment or working to help people recover.

Lavinia looked at Brooke, thinking about the other survivor of the camp incident: "hey, where is Xavier?"

"He's resting on a hospital bed down the hall, where Chet is supposed to go after recovery," Brooke replied.

"Any word on him?"

"No, not since we got here. Must be really bad," she said worriedly.

"I'm sure he'll be okay. He's a badass. He _swam_ in that lake from the middle of it, where it is deepest, to where I was screaming for him," Lavinia mentioned. "With his _ear_ sliced off, after being _impaled_, Brooke."

"He lost so much blood," she said.

"And he still was moving, even as I brought him to you guys," Lavinia said. "You know, I'm pretty sure he is going to live."

Meanwhile, Ralph had finished all of his food in under ten minutes, fluids included. He looked over at Lavinia and Brooke, overhearing their conversation as he felt strength and vigor return to his body. Yet he made a major realization in that moment of time – that vigor was too dangerous for the world as he knew it.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_So they're out of Redwood, and Lavinia knows the forbidden family secret! We also see a bit of Ralph's family in New York, so that is a plus. The lullaby apparently is an old Russian one with many translations, but the one I went with was the one where it warned kids to stay in bed otherwise the wolf would snatch them up. Quite fitting, I'd say. The song was also featured in the video game _Dead by Daylight_, and served as the Huntress' theme. The lyrics to the tune, with the translation in mind, were written (and sung by, look on Youtube) by Ashley Serena._

_An extra bit of consideration for those (including myself) who cannot read Cyrillic, these are translations of the phrases Aunt Mariya used in the flashback:_

**_девочка иди спать (devochka idi spat) - "baby girl, please sleep"_**

_**бред какой то (bred kakoy to) - "nonsense"**_

_Lastly, "**babushka**" and "**deda**" are two terms for grandparents referred to here, so I still count this. "Deda" is grandpa, "babushka" is grandma. Lavinia refers to her paternal grandmother as "babuya", which is the Ukrainian form of the same word. Yup, I confirm Ralph's mother was Ukrainian. _

_Stay tuned for the next chapter. __Like the story? Be sure to Favorite, Follow and leave a Review to tell me what you think!_


	10. Chapter 9: Mercy

**Chapter 9: Mercy**

Ralph insisted for he and Lavinia to be discharged from the hospital by noon. When the nurse and physician who took care of them objected to this, especially for Lavinia's leg wound, Ralph insisted that because he himself was an MD, it was an informed decision. Really, he just did not want to be caught transforming in the middle of a hospital. Due to the fact his car was on the side of the road near the gas station where Roy was killed by his Lycan form, they did not have an easy way to get back to Los Angeles. They were four hours away, and by public transportation, it would be a much longer trek home. They decided to suck it up and endure the trip that lasted nine hours by trains and buses to Los Angeles. They were given clothing to wear by the hospital and were on their way. Ralph, recalling his youth, snuck he and his daughter on board two trains and three buses unnoticed. Their stops were in Indio, Palm Springs, Riverside, and Anaheim before finally reaching Los Angeles around 8:00PM. Luckily, the last bus stop from the final train was down the street from their house, and when they got off, they hustled down the street to the three-bedroom bungalow with pale yellow siding and white, carved wooden accents. They got in and collapsed on the furniture, yet Ralph knew this period of rest would be temporary.

Lavinia laid on the couch for a full hour before moving toward the kitchen to get a glass of milk as well as to the bathroom to take a shower. It was hard to shower with a bandaged leg, but she managed. She even applied a new bandage and dressing successfully without the aid of her father. She put on clean, comfortable clothing that she could easily go to bed in – a pair of dark gray joggers and a loose-fitting navy-blue sweatshirt. She went back to the living room and turned on the TV, finding that the sitcom _Family Ties_ was on. She fell asleep ten minutes into the episode, but the nap turned into two hours of much-needed deep sleep. She woke up again, wiping her eyes and walking down the hallway to her bedroom only to find the master bedroom door open, seeing her father standing there with the top drawer of his dresser open.

Lavinia looked at her father from where she was standing in the master bedroom doorway, rummaging through his drawer until he found a small leather drawstring pouch. It looked aged, wrinkled with the touch of its previous owners as he opened it gingerly as to not rip it. Lavinia's eyes widened at the sound of metal falling into Ralph's open palms, and his icy blue eyes looked over at her, knowing full well she was there in the hallway.

"Come here." It was an order, and she walked slowly toward him, curious to see what the metal pieces were.

"Dad?" she asked tiredly. "What are those?"

"What I'm holding here are about a century old," Ralph explained. "Do you know why I didn't die all those times you shot me when at the camp?"

She shook her head rapidly, her heart racing with anxiety: "uh… n-no, dad."

"One of the perks of being a Lycan is that you cannot die by regular bullets. In fact, you heal up in mere seconds upon impact, like you were never shot," Ralph explained. "When my grandfather came with the family from Russia on the eve of the Revolution, he went to a bishop acting as though he himself were afraid of werewolves. The bishop gave him these silver bullets, blessed in a ceremony, for the sole purpose of killing one successfully." He paused. "One thing I _do_ know about these bullets, is they are laced with wolfsbane, a poison that makes a human sick before it kills…but to us Lycans? Instant death. We don't get the luxury of being sick an hour or two before death."

"Dad, what are you trying to prove here?" she asked. "Why are you showing me these?"

Ralph took a deep sigh and walked over toward the window on the other side of the room, looking up at the moon and growling in a deep whisper, a homage to his true, animalistic ways: "I want you to put me out of my misery."

Her jaw dropped, and tears slowly started to deluge her widened gray eyes. Her heart dropped in her chest, and her skin felt a cold rush to its surface. She walked slowly over to her father and shook her head – was he out of his mind? Did he seriously just suggest for her to kill him?

"Are you INSANE?!" she shouted emphatically. "You want _me_ to kill you?!"

"_Please_, Lavinia!" he begged, getting on his knees. He started to cry like he had in the woods when confessing to all he had done: "this stain on my soul is too great, and only a _mercy killing_ can cleanse me! Please! My grandfather was not strong enough to do it himself, and I cannot bear to carry this curse anymore! I'm too dangerous to be alive!"

"Dad, I'm not killing you!" the girl refused tearfully. "You're my _dad_!" She paused, starting to walk out of the room. "Where the hell am I going to live? Where will I go?"

"Back to New York," Ralph said with an affirmative nod. "With your mother, where you _belong_, and _should_ have belonged the entire time."

She shook her head, continuing to leave the room with her father following her: "I'm calling the fucking police…this is batshit!"

"Lavinia," he said sternly through tears, not wanting to resort to this sort of threat, "I _will_ kill you if you don't kill me first. I spared you in the woods, but I could easily tear you into pieces when I turn tonight."

She paused, putting the phone back on the receiver without having dialed a number, and she shook her head: "dad, I'm not killing you. You have gotten away with doing this shit all my life, and never tried to kill me, and now you want to kill me? Well, _go the fuck ahead_, dad!"

Ralph growled, feeling his fists tighten near his chest as a few of the silver bullets dropped to the floor. It was like nothing Lavinia had ever seen before. He collapsed to the floor and grunted in severe pain and anguish, and his daughter was deeply disturbed by the sound of bones starting to break under his skin.

"DAD!" she screamed.

"I'm…t-turning…" _Grrr_… came a growl. "You want to…" _Grrrrrr_…. "see me like this…"_ GRRRRR_… "the rest of my life?!"

Lavinia backed away, but not before grabbing the single silver bullet nearest to her and running toward the linen closet, in which an antiquated single-shot rifle was hidden. Lavinia could feel about a century of age on this weapon, and even saw a few strange markings on the handle and barrel, as though a beast had marred the surface in an attack. Had it been the same hunting gun her great-grandfather survived the attack in, and brought from Russia? She could hear praying, but the voice did not sound like her father – it was deep, raspy, and full of deep pain.

"O Lord… forgive me… an unworthy sinner and servant… _GRR_!" Another growl escaped his throat, and his daughter could hear skin ripping as bones reformed and he doubled in height, mass and size.

"GRRR! Nghhh…"

Lavinia wasted no time in loading the gun with the single silver bullet, tears flowing from her face, conflicted as to whether to kill her own father. Or was it really her father she was killing? Was it the beast that had possessed his body from the time he was a fertilized egg? She knew she could not waste any time, and bravely went toward the living room, praying over and over as she watched Ralph's teeth turn to razor-sharp fangs, his body now three-quarters covered in black fur as the clothes he was wearing tore off his form.

"God, my good and loving Lord, I acknowledge all the sins which I have committed every day in my life," she prayed rapidly, shutting her eyes and mentally preparing herself as her father made the full transformation into the Lycan she had been introduced to at Camp Redwood, "whether in thought, word or deed. I ask for forgiveness from the depths of my heart for offending You and others and repent of my old ways. Help me by Your grace to change, to sin no more and to walk in the way of righteousness and to praise and glorify Your Name, Father, Son and Holy Spirit…."

_RAAAWRRRR!_

The Lycan, no longer her own father, looked menacing and thirsty for Lavinia's fresh organs and blood. Tears fell from her tired gray eyes and she glanced over at the clock to see it was approaching midnight and her father had already turned. She could not even scream, but what she did do was run – the provoked the beast to pursue her, and just before leaving through the front door, she grabbed the cardboard case of bullets for the gun from the same closet it was in and made off with it just in time, dropping a few along the way. The Lycan burst through the front of their house, smashing windows and destroying the fine yellow siding with his overwhelming brute strength. He looked around and roared loud enough to attract the attention of a few sleeping neighbors, who opened their windows to see what was going on outside. A few saw the large, black beast, while others noticed the front of the Volkov's house was destroyed. A distinct few noticed Lavinia sprinting down the street with the firearm as though she were a soldier during wartime and opted to call the authorities.

Really, Lavinia was human bait. She recognized the fact that she may not have been luring the Lycan away from mainstream society the right way, but this was better than nothing and better than having her guts ripped out at home. Her heart raced to the point where she wondered if enough blood was rushing through her bodily systems to keep her sprinting for so long, and she wanted to take a break, but not until she was in a wooded area. The nearest wooded area was a park reservation ten minutes away by foot, and she kept running because her life depended on it. In the distance, she could hear sirens and deep growling and roaring sounds as the Lycan stalked her trail. When she finally entered the wooded area, she hid in the thickest patch of brushes she could find using moonlight alone. Her labored breathing and the taste of blood in her mouth made her even more anxious, adding to the conflicted feeling of having to kill her own father. On top of it all, the wound in the back of her thigh was starting to really hurt again.

_Should I really kill him? He's literally after me,_ she thought as she kept her eyes peeled, _I need to just think of it as me killing the beast, not him, not my father_… She teared up intensely and sobbed under her breath, struggling to stay quiet, _that is __**not**__ my father. My father and I had a fucked-up relationship as he raised me, but still…he's my _father_ for Christsakes… oh shit, I took the Lord's name in vain. I should be praying for forgiveness… please have pity on me, Lord…_

There was a growling sound just a few yards away, and Lavinia could hear sirens from police cars even further away than that. She kept quiet, taking the opportunity to load the gun with the extra bullets she retrieved before fleeing home. She was mostly alone with her thoughts, in her head, praying like she had a million times before.

_Grrr_….

Hearing his deep, guttural growl just a few yards away from her made her stop thinking of prayers. _I cannot pray anymore, he won't go away, he can smell me_, she thought, sobbing under her breath.

_Sniff…sniff…sniff_

"Please dad…" she whispered, clutching the rifle. "Don't do this. I'm your daughter."

_Grr...grrr…_

The growling got louder, as though the Lycan determined where she was just by hearing her silent muttering. As the Lycan got closer and the sirens in the distance grew louder, she could catch a slight glimpse of red and blue lights at the edge of the wooded area she was chased into. She thought it through one more time, knowing her life depended so much on action rather than thought and prayer. Lavinia stood up, and much to her surprise and agony, she could feel claws scraping from the bottom of her rib cage, diagonally past her small right breast to her shoulder through her sweatshirt. How she was still alive even one second after feeling the claw strike baffled her, but it fueled her with a primal rage that fueled her to point the rifle up at the Lycan.

"I'm so sorry!" she screamed tearfully with shame and agony, blood dripping from the fresh wounds that barely broke her ribcage.

_BAM!_

The Lycan growled and took the first bullet to the chest, near his heart. He growled and took two more to the chest.

_BAM! BAM!_

There was only bullet left – the blessed silver one laced with wolfsbane, a poison more deadly to werewolves than to humans, though it could kill just the same. Lavinia, in a split second, wondered where to shoot it; his heart, or his head? She went for the latter.

_BAM!_

Brain matter splattered all over the nearby bushes as the century-old blessed silver bullet seemed to explode on impact, killing the Lycan (and her father) instantly. Half of its elongated, wolf-like skull broke off, and fell to the ground along with the twelve-foot corpse of the beast. Lavinia, seeing what she had done, collapsed to her knees, about to faint from losing blood but kept herself conscious. Her heart raced, and more blood flowed out as she crawled over to the beast's lifeless body weakly. She started to sob, digging her hands into the thick, black fur of the beast as tears fell. She whined and whimpered, feeling conflicted about her action for survival. She had killed her own father, by his request, to end his suffering which she was reluctant to do. Yet, he had caused her enough damage to possibly kill her with that claw strike. She had hoped by doing this, she would send his soul to a good place where he truly _deserved_ for his devotion to faith in life as a human man, rather than a dark place due to his actions when the beast came out.

She started to scream hysterically, crying even still as she could vaguely make out lights flashing around her and men talking. Her face turned up to the moon and she screamed a bloodcurdling scream with both agony and sorrow, completely ignoring the fact that police and a SWAT team were there to investigate what was reported by the Volkov's neighbors.

"AHHHH! AHHHHH!"

It was continuous. She continued to scream with unmatchable hysterics, blood pouring from the claw strike wound that marred her chest. Even as she began to feel faint again, she kept at it, trying to choke up words to say that were only cut off by the sensation of being grabbed. Lavinia even tried to use the very last of her strength to fight off the sensation, trying to violently punch who turned out to be a police officer.

"Miss, please, come with us!"

"NUH! NUH!" That was the only thing she could shout from the top of her lungs. She could only vaguely hear the authorities present saying different things about the dead Lycan and the physical results of her attack, some of which she could not recognize.

"Oh my God, what _is_ that thing?"

"Must be it. Mrs. Johnston down the street said it was a big hairy monster."

"Is she bleeding from her mouth?"

"She needs an ambulance right away. Call! NOW! I have never seen such a wound!"

"Miss," the voice closest to her said, an assertive male, "please. You need to remain calm. You're losing so much blood already. You're going to be alright. We are calling an ambulance."

* * *

That was the last thing she remembered. She could not remember being administered temporary first aid before being strapped to a gurney and put in the ambulance with her neighbors watching. She could not remember the Lycan's body being taken into custody for investigation. She could not remember the mask being put over her face to administer anesthesia for emergency surgery. All she could remember was waking up to a nurse and doctor and feeling excruciating pain in her chest and the metal-like taste of bloody in her mouth. The hospital room was dim, and it looked like a recovery area much like she had the following day after returning from Redwood.

"There there," the nurse said. "You're waking up. The surgeon was in there for three hours patching you up. How do you feel?"

It took her a bit to respond. Her eyes were glassy, and her speech slurred: "how am I still alive?"

"You're very lucky you _are_," the doctor said in the background, holding a clipboard. "Dr. Acharya has seen people attacked by wild animals, but your case? Nothing he had ever seen before. If those, uh… _scratch marks_ ran any deeper, you would not have made it."

"You should rest up," the nurse suggested.

"What time is it?" Lavinia asked weakly, looking around while sedated under heavy painkillers.

"Just past three thirty," she answered, "much too late for you to be up at all, so please sleep. We will be checking on you every fifteen minutes."

Lavinia did not even have the strength to respond, but she could feel the IV injecting more painkillers into her system. They helped a lot by not just making the pain temporarily subside but going to sleep. She was in a deep sleep all the way up until 10:00 the following morning, where she was woken up by the sound of room service bringing breakfast. She looked around, but could not shake off the sweaty, hot feeling that had taken over her body.

"Oh, man," she muttered in a deep groan.

"Everything okay this morning?" the attendant asked.

Lavinia's weary gray eyes looked up at him and she squirmed: "do I _look_ okay? I feel like I want to die."

"Do you still want me to bring you breakfast? Or maybe something lighter? Like crackers and jam?"

"NO!" Lavinia let out a scream that barely scratched the surface of how she was really feeling inside, and the trauma she was put through in her ordeal. She broke down into full sobbing, the attendant unsure of what to do. "That beast… was my dad… he tried to kill me, and wanted me to kill him…" She let out a wheezing whimper and continue, "or he would kill me! That beast was NOT my_ father_! The first night he was, and he saved me, only to kill me!"

"Uh…"

"I killed that beast, my own father!" Lavinia shouted, "I don't know how the hell you turn into one of them, but those claws dug deep!"

She could vaguely hear through her frenzied sobbing the attendant going to the hallway and looking both ways: "we need a nurse pronto in here! Get your strongest stuff."

The girl was lost in the sound of her sobbing, gasping for air as tears fell down her face, as well as the feeling of burning pain where the claw strike wound still was. Remarkably, it was barely bleeding under the sizable bandage dressing, even though the sound of her crying could be heard outside, from where two nurses came in to try and calm Lavinia down.

"Please, stay calm, miss. It's alright, we are here," one of them sad.

Lavinia could barely even say anything else, except: "I killed the beast. That beast was my dad! His body is probably human by now and you don't even KNOW it!"

"The beast is gone, whatever did that to you. You are safe, you are in Huntington Hospital, being treated," the other nurse said. "It's alright."

"No! Nothing is okay!" Lavinia screamed frantically with tears. "My dad is dead! I had to kill him at his request! He was too dangerous to be alive, okay?! He fucking RIPPED people APART! Ate limbs down to the bone, even swallowed someone's head! He ripped people's guts out… you weren't there! You don't get it!"

"Roberta," one of the nurses said, "where is the sedative?"

"Oh my God, you're drugging me up? Go the fuck ahead! Kill me! I hope you purposely put too much!" the girl screamed.

The nurses looked at each other and shook their heads: "what the hell did they give her?"

"Not the right stuff, apparently," Roberta, the other nurse said as she injected the heavy sedative into Lavinia's intravenous line.

The girl stopped screaming and crying due to running out of how to express her emotions, but in less than a minute, she was out like a light. She laid back in the hospital bed, where the two nurses proceeded to dismiss the attendant from room service and redress her wound. As they took the tape and bandages off, they saw that the wounds from the Lycan's claws were only halfway healed, with the more open areas entirely scabbed over. Roberta, the nurse, looked down at the wounds in shock.

"Dear Lord…" There was a pause. "I can't believe what I'm seeing."

"No infection, no bleeding…" The other nurse said, shaking her head with the same astonished look on her face. "Only halfway healed. That fast?"

"Still, dress the wound," Roberta replied, getting new pads of gauze out of their sterile wrappers and opening packets of antiseptic wipes and bacitracin. "We're watching her, and if she starts screaming with hysterics again, give her more tranquilizer. Won't shock me if the police come for questioning, either."

"They can do that here?"

"Oh yes. We just can't be here."

* * *

**A/N:**

_So, our little heroine has done the unthinkable, and the aftermath of being at Redwood continues! I personally thought the fate of the other camp counselors was a bit unfair, like Xavier and Chet, so I made them live in my story. As much as I liked Montana's character, I thought she was batshit crazy and deserved her death (which I also changed the nature of in my story). I still loved her character, though. I also thought that Brooke should never have gone to prison, and Margaret should never have lived to be rich and famous. Anyhow… stay tuned for the next chapter! What will happen with Lavinia now that her father is gone? Furthermore, did her father "turn" her?_


	11. Chapter 10: Moon Baby

**Chapter 10: Moon Baby**

That is exactly what happened by noon that day. Lavinia was out like a light in the dark until ten minutes to twelve, and room service managed to bring her lunch and take away the breakfast that had been sitting there for hours. She opened her eyes, her vision blurry until gaining full consciousness. The nurse, Roberta, rolled over the table with the food, and without any words, Lavinia started to devour everything in sight without taking a moment to pause. That was, until two men came into the room, making the nurse leave and close the door. Lavinia, still consuming lunch, took the cup of water to her lips and paused, looking at the policemen in suits. They just looked at her like they were watching a lion tear apart an antelope on the savannah.

"Hello, are you Lavinia Volkov?"

She put the cup down slowly and wearily: "yeah?"

The two men each showed their shiny badges: "I'm Peter Colquitt, and this is my partner Matthew Stevens. We are from the LAPD, and as much as we know you are in the hospital recovering, we would like to ask you a few questions about what you saw last night. Do you think you can do that right now?"

Lavinia sighed and pushed the rolling table an inch away: "uh…"

"About your house, it was destroyed. We got reports from your neighbors," Colquitt mentioned.

"Don't I need someone here with me? Like, a lawyer or something?" Lavinia asked, a contemplatively suspicious look on her face as her eyelids only slightly hooded her gray irises.

"You haven't done anything particularly incriminating. This is just about what you saw," the law enforcement official said. "What were you chased by down the street?"

Lavinia sighed, quietly thinking for a moment: "a Lycan."

"A what?"

"Are you deaf?" she asked with a slight sneer. "A Lycan. Werewolf. You guys had to have seen him, since you probably took him to check him out anyhow. I…" She tried to suppress tears: "I tried killing it because it was going to kill _me_."

"Yes, uh… was this _thing_ in your house?" Stevens, the other police officer asked.

"Yeah, it was."

"Where was your father at the time?" asked Colquitt, writing down her answers. "Was it, uh, Dr. Ralph Volkov?"

She inhaled sharply through her nose in a long, slow, but painful deep breath, her rib cage rising and falling under the claw strike wounds that were bandaged: "yes."

"Where was he?"

"He was right there in front of me," Lavinia answered. "Changing."

"Changing?"

Lavinia took a huffy breath, trying one last time to suppress a sob as tears began to deluge her eyes: "every full moon, three days out of the month, he'd change. _He_ was the Lycan." She paused. "This thing didn't break into our house. It has been living there my whole life, and I was blind to it until recently."

"We've… been investigating the cause of several brutal murders around LA that look animalistic, and it seems we've found a culprit," Colquitt determined.

Lavinia gave a haughty, aggravated chuckle: "I am so shocked you're not making me serve time right now, let alone believing me."

"Well, our forensics team has determined several victims have died by the hands of something not human. They're experts, 99.9% sure it was that thing that chased you and…" Stevens looked at Lavinia's bandaged chest, or at least what could be seen of it through her hospital gown, "injured you."

She sighed again: "it is what it is, I guess."

"You may have just saved this city from more murders. Thank you," Stevens said.

"Lavinia, can you tell us if you have someone who could serve as your legal guardian? Since, well, you will _not _be going home," Colquitt asked.

"Not around here," the girl answered.

"Uh, where would they be?"

"New York City."

"What is your mother's name?"

"Fuck her."

"Why?" The policemen's eyes widened at how crass she sounded.

"Because she abandoned me when I needed her most, and left me then, so I'd be in this position now," Lavinia explained. "Granted, my dad tried killing her twice, so he said, but I doubt she'd even care if I was here."

"You really should not talk about your mother that way," Steven encouraged. "Being without a mother is hard, but, can't you at least give it a try? Maybe she would be devastated to know what has happened to you."

"I doubt it, but…" Lavinia relucted. "Michelle Reid." She thought for a moment. "Also, I could be with my _babusya_."

"Your _what_?" Colquitt questioned.

"My grandmother," the girl rolled her eyes. "She's like sixty, but I _adore_ that woman." She paused. "Her name is Maryska."

The two men struggled to pronounce and spell it: "how do you spell that?"

"M…A…R…Y…S…K…A. Maryska," Lavinia spelled and repeated. "Maryka Volkov, though sometimes she goes by her maiden name, too."

"Which is?"

"Derevyanko."

"Wait hold on, how do you…"

"Oh God," Lavinia shook her head and spelled the very unique last name.

"Dad's mother?"

"Yup."

"We…would much rather call your mother, Michelle, for now. We will be in touch with child services, and you will likely be living with her until you reach the age of majority."

"Pfft." Lavinia was not keen on the idea, and made it known.

* * *

Michelle Reid, Lavinia's estranged mother, was upper-middle class by her own hard work and determination in Manhattan. Having never remarried, Michelle used her career in business as drive to reinvent herself. The vice president of a prominent bank, her work was interrupted in the form of a trip to Los Angeles, where her daughter was staying at Huntington Hospital. When getting a call from authorities close to the strange case, Michelle flew out to LA within a few days and booked a fine but cheap hotel in the cleaner part of town for two whole weeks. By this point, Lavinia's claw strike wound had healed by eighty percent, but still was being tended to by the nurses. As the day when being questioned by the police officers, Lavinia devoured every meal down to the last morsel, to the point where the nurses had to watch her eat in case she choked. Luckily, she had not, but they were glad to see her eating and not screaming profanities anymore.

Yet the guilt of killing her beastly father still ate her inside like she ate the platters of breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was almost like the razor-sharp teeth of his specter was tearing her apart, a hollow feeling in her chest coming over her as she constantly recalled the incident in her head.

When Michelle entered, Lavinia looked over at the door to see the woman she had not seen in eight years standing there with a small, thin vase of cheap tulips of different colors. Michelle was a relatively attractive woman of thirty-six with curling strawberry blonde hair pinned neatly in a bun with voluminous bangs, fitting for the time period. Her heart-shaped face was adorned with makeup; a peach-toned blush, smokey eyeshadow in an array of browns and tans that complimented her hazel eyes, and a neutral lipstick. Her jewelry was quite expensive, consisting of a matching set of a silver heart necklace and crystalline teardrop earrings. Her outfit was fit for summer and business casual; a white dress of lightweight silk that went below the knee with a high v-neck and a pussycat bow in front of yoke embroidery. On her feet were a pair of light tan woven huarache-style flats. Lavinia looked at her and sighed wearily, resting her head back on the pillow.

"Lavinia?" Michelle said, trying to get her attention. "I…I know this is sudden but… hello."

"Child services sent you here, or someone, but I don't want to go," her daughter said coldly. "Not with you."

Her mother just shook her head and walked briskly over to the side table to put the tulips down and adjust her cross-body purse: "you have no choice in the matter."

The girl just rolled her eyes but managed to hear every word her mother had to say. Yet she had a hard time believing it all because it had been eight years since they saw each other; since her parent's divorce, since she decided to up and leave.

"I know this a lot you're going through right now, and I know this is crazy to see me here, but I _do_ exist, and I _do_ regret leaving like I did…" She paused and sat down, "leaving you with _him_. I…I heard you were badly wounded."

She was ignored again. Lavinia continued to give her mother the silent treatment until one question arose.

"Where is your father in all of this?"

Her gray eyes looked over at her well-dressed mother and she breathed angrily: "if I hear about him one more time," she paused as she felt herself starting to cry, "I'm going to _fucking_ LOSE IT!"

"_Don't_ lose it," Michelle stated firmly. "Answer my very simple question."

Lavinia's tears fell and she let the storm that was brewing inside come out: "But none of this is simple! Don't you get that? He is DEAD! GONE! He got a silver bullet to the head…and I can_not_ take that back!" She wept some before continuing to speak: "no one fucking believes me… all they keep doing is shooting me up with shit to make me sleep… the police came, asked me stuff… they _sorta_ believe me, because they have dad in custody, in his… L-Lycan form…dead, like that."

Michelle, intrigued by what her daughter said, seemed to have her memory triggered: "did your father _ask_ you to kill him? Or was he attacking you and threatening your life, making it so you _had_ to?"

Lavinia, remembering what her father confessed, answered frankly and calmly with a sniffle: "both. We just got back from Camp Redwood, and…last night, it was not long after we came back from the hospital. It was a long trip because we were four hours away by car. I got stabbed in the leg. It doesn't hurt anymore though."

"Did he give you the silver bullets?" she asked.

"He did. I didn't want to, mom! I swear! I wanted to call the police! He threatened that he would kill me if I didn't kill him before he turned, but he did right then and there, and I had to escape fast. I probably attracted way too much attention considering the house is destroyed and the neighbors all know, and the police all know, but… I…I had to! He… he clawed my chest…"

Lavinia pulled down her hospital gown just enough for her mother to see the extent of the damage by the size of the bandages. Michelle's eyes widened, unable to say a word as her lower lip trembled in fear. A tear fell from her eyes and she shook her hand, palms together as if in prayer and bringing them to her lips at the sight of her daughter badly injured.

"To think I left you with your father… to preserve my own life…" Michelle said sadly. "I have been a _horrible_ mother to you, Lavinia. I am _so_ sorry, and I know words will not change anything but _please_… give me _one_ chance to fix this, to fix what we could have had."

Lavinia took note of her mother's words: "he tried killing you. Twice. He confessed to me when he told me about this _shit _in his family."

"He did, almost…" said Michelle tearfully. "I left to avoid any more contact with him. The first time, we were, uh… in bed, and he started to choke me and bite at my neck so hard I thought he would break skin… I just… passed it off as something _new_. The last time was the last straw. Choking me on the kitchen floor, begging me to kill him and 'release his soul'. I refused. I didn't want to live with that on my conscience." She paused. "I could have easily said he abused me, but… then I thought of you. I suspected you had inherited that from him, and… thought you would grow up to be like him." She paused. "You've been clawed… and…"

"What about it?" Lavinia asked, listening to her mother.

"If you have not turned by now, I am shocked," Michelle said.

"So, let me get this straight, mom, okay? You stayed with this man, knowing full well what he was, what awful things he did, and you didn't even think to say anything to the police? Or anybody?"

"No one would believe me. That's the hard thing about being a woman. No one believes you," Michelle said calmly. "Even if it is abuse. I could have said that, but it doesn't mean that they would take it into account."

Lavinia shook her head: "that beast was a _beast_. _Not_ my father. I try to tell myself that."

"And as far as I'm concerned," Michelle added, reaching to touch her daughter's hand, "you saved so many people from potentially being torn up to pieces. I am…_ proud_ of you."

The girl's eyes widened in shock, looking at her mother positively for the first time in so long. Michelle had a sad smile on her face, and for the first time, the girl actually felt valued. Was this what was waiting for her? She sighed and nodded, approving of her statement.

"At least someone is," she said. "Mom, if I come to New York with you, I only ask for two things."

"Name your price," Michelle answered, giving a line she often used at work.

"Let me see my _babusya_. I adore and miss that woman. As for my new friends, Brooke, Chet and Xavier? Let them stay at your house whenever they come around to visit."

"Done."

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_So, this here is the last official chapter of the story, so I want to post a THANK YOU to all who have read, posted reviews/comments, and favorited/followed. It means a lot. Stay tuned for the Epilogue! We're going to the future for this one…_


	12. Epilogue

_The last part of this story, this is told in the first person from Lavinia's perspective._

* * *

**Epilogue:**

So, I went back to New York City with my mom that fateful summer in 1984. I still kept in touch with Brooke and Chet, because they got married four years later. Xavier, on the other hand, I saw him on the front of _TV Guide_ in 1986, so I guess he was doing well for the time. After what happened at Camp Redwood and then the night I had to put that big dog down, we did not keep in touch as much. No-brainer for Rita, or should I say Donna Chambers; no contact at all, but I know she is alive. I'll get to that in a bit.

My mom was actually okay to me for the remainder of my teenage years – she was more well-off than my dad, even though he was a specialist and made about as much. Now, I understood her more, knowing she fled in order to survive and that it had nothing to do with me. I was sent to an all-girl's school, Brearly, which I was okay with. I hated being forced into a skirt, but at least I could say my education was top of the line. I was really good at languages, I did Latin and Russian at the same time. I also did lacrosse. Heck, before my great-uncles Vlad and Peter retired from owning their delicatessen, I was able to practice with them. People thought I was a bit nuts because I chose Russian, I even got a bit of light teasing like being called a "Russian spy", but I laughed it off. I was at a point in my life where none of that shit would bother me anymore.

I also was at a point in my life where I could explore who I was. Men always repulsed me, and I did not know why until I met Amelia Schuman. If you've seen Brooke Shields, she kind of looked like her – long, soft brown hair, always wore a fluffy hairbow tied at the top of her bangs, her hair sprayed so much that it made her tresses stand up. It was the only form of self-expression for us at Brearly. I didn't follow suit. I just wore a ponytail; my hair had gotten long enough. I had this attraction to Amelia, I guess. It was mutual, I'd say.

She was one of three friends I made there. I met them all in the bathroom the third day of school, where they were passing out cigarettes to each other and decided to include me. That was one habit I picked up. The other girls were Leticia Coolidge, one of the only three black girls in the entire school, and Lydia Atkins, a girl with a subtle gothic style who idolized Souxsie from the Banshees. I guess I fit in well with them, but sometimes I felt like Amelia saw herself as "too good" for our little posse. She was a goody-two-shoes, her father happened to work under my mom in the same place, so we saw each other the most outside of school. I saw so much in her that I'd rather keep to myself, but it is too good to not share – she was closeted, I could tell. I had been, too, but I didn't really know much about what being a lesbian meant. We are still in touch every so often. She confided in me one afternoon junior year when we decided to meet in the girl's bathroom for a cigarette during fourth period.

"Don't hate me, okay?" I remember her asking me.

"What could I possibly hate you for?" I asked, dragging on my cigarette. We were sitting up against the wall in the handicap stall at the end of the row.

"You know… how… uh…" She was stuttering, and she fluffed her brown hair slightly, "we get boyfriends, and we get, _other_ things?"

"I don't follow." I was playing dumb.

"You know… like… you know how Leticia has a crush on…" She stopped herself. "Uh, forget I said that. Point is… I don't think I want that."

I was a bit speechless in that moment – that was when it was confirmed to me that Amelia was like me in that sense. She shuffled to sit on her knees, to make sitting in her school uniform skirt less awkward. I was sitting with my knees drawn up as though I were wearing pants. I would have rather worn pants.

"Me neither," I said, tapping out the cigarette ashes into the toilet after another drag, "doesn't mean we're broken."

"No, I meant…" She sighed with frustration, turning to face me, "I don't think I want that… with a _guy_."

I raised my eyebrows, taking a long, slow drag: "uh… okay then."

"I feel like I can tell you. Y-You said that… men repulse you, right?" Amelia asked.

I nodded: "yup. One of the perks of being here is that I'm not surrounded by them."

That was when she leaned in and gave me a kiss on my cheek. I turned red as a strawberry. Amelia was so pretty and feminine, and I was so dull. I looked over at her and put my palm to where she kissed. She looked down sadly and that was when I sat on my knees, too, with the hopes of seeing what was wrong and showing her I cared.

"Hey… why the long face?"

No answer.

I just gave in and said: "you shouldn't kiss someone_ just_ on the cheek if you like them."

I did not realize what was coming out of my mouth until I felt her soft lips on mine. That was my first kiss, and the first time I felt fondness toward another person. I was sixteen or so by this point, I had to explore it sooner or later. I didn't worry about being caught; we were in a stall. I could feel her holding me, and I did the same to her. She felt so gentle, so soft, and she tasted like sugar. I felt my heart racing, and my face turned even redder as I blushed. When we broke the kiss, she looked into my eyes and I smiled.

"Let's not let this ruin our friendship," I giggled.

* * *

Deep down, I was hoping something else didn't. Remember the claw strike my dad left for me? Well, I learned that can turn a human if they survive the blow. Well, turn them into Lycans. That's what happened to me a month after turning sixteen. I realized I was not born with the mutation my dad had, because he himself told me he never _once _got sick in his life. That's one of the perks of being a Lycan is a strengthened immune system, to the point where 99.9% of human diseases and illness cannot affect you. I also can smell things from a long distance away, and when I turn, I have the strength of ten Arnold Schwarzeneggers. Oh, and I have an advanced healing factor; that is why I don't have the scar from where Margaret stabbed me. The scar from the wound that turned me is a different story. That healed just enough to form a faint scar.

I can remember it being the full moon, and this pain struck me out of nowhere from my core, spreading throughout my body as my bones broke and reformed for the very first time. The most painful part of metamorphosis is usually my head and face; it twists and forms into a snout, and my ears change position and shape entirely. My skin peeled over my bones, and fur emerged. If I have to describe it, it is a light tan color. My father was a literal _monster_ when he turned; at least, when I saw him like that, hulking at twelve-foot-five. My first time turning, and for most of my teen years, I was maybe six-foot-something, pretty small for what a Lycan is supposed to be. I always thought a Lycan doubles in height after they change. After I was turned, I kissed all of that goodbye.

With age, I did get taller. By the time I graduated from Brearly, I had a gradual growth spurt. I was short until seventeen, when I reached five-foot-eight; as I Lycan, I am less than double that. Both my parents were tall, but I was taller than my mom. The women in my dad's side of the family were pretty tall, too. I went to Washington state for university, but only went for one year. That is because my life changed… yet again.

* * *

It was '89, I had just finished freshman year at Central Washington University, so it was summer. I majored in Law and Justice, and had even started to dye my hair black – in a weird way, I was paying tribute to my father's memory, not the beast he became every month. By the end of the decade, I looked like that singer Martika. I had given up on religion especially since I came to terms with being a lesbian, plus everything I went through at Redwood and killing my own dad made realize that God is probably a joke. I was living in an apartment with a roommate and working part time at a grocery store, and it was hard. The apartment got broken into, and long story short, I shot the fucker. He was dead upon arrival at the hospital, I had to go to court with my roommate as a witness, and I got off because in Washington state, you have every right to defend yourself. Plus, I was licensed to carry a pistol.

Lee moved out after the incident. I was alone, and still working at the grocery store. It was the next month during the second night of the full moon, I transformed and did my usual. I was glad to live near the woods, and I do not remember killing a human that way…at first. Remember when I mentioned that my apartment was near the Yakama reservation? Well, I met two Lycans from there that very night. The werewolves in North America look quite different from those of European lineage – they're a bit shorter, thinner, and black fur is the most common color. Black or brown eyes also are common, but they glow like mine do. The interaction was brief, but it felt like a chase the entire night. That is all I remember.

The following morning, I woke up in a clearing and not even five feet away from me was the unconscious body of a woman with tan skin, long black hair and a round face. She was naked, like I was, laying there in the grass. I had gotten up and looked over at her, only to see her eyes opening. About two feet away from her was a naked man with the same complexion and distinctive cheekbones with a disheveled long, black ponytail. We were all some degree of filthy, but I think I was the dirtiest. I was used to it. The man then woke up, and stood and his two feet, trying to get oriented. That was when I knew these two were like me, albeit very different.

"Uh… hello," the man said, looking down at the woman. "Kiya? Are you awake? It's morning."

There was a groan: "already?"

I tried so hard not to stare at her as she stood up, and even though men repulsed me, there was something about this one that drew me, not just because he was a Lycan. He spoke and the woman, named Kiya, was standing next to him with her black hair cascading enough to hide her chest. He looked at me with beady, dark eyes, just like I had seen them the night before in his Lycan form, and smirked.

"You… are like us," he said. "I am Jon. Your name is?"

"Lavinia, but… you can call me Luba," I answered. My hair was too short to hide any private part of my body, but even then, every time I transformed, I got used to the idea that I was naked even with fur.

"I'm Kiya," the girl said.

"She is my sister," Jon added.

"Where do you guys live?" I questioned.

"We live on the reservation," he answered. "Not the best place but… that's where we've been for over a century." He paused. "You… are different from the ones we see around here."

I felt my eyes widen: "uh, are there more?"

"Yes."

I was in shock – I never in a million years thought I'd meet werewolves, but then again, I was so against being one just years before. I was nineteen by this point, so it meant a lot that I found friends that resonated on a deeper level with me. We became fast friends, and I accepted their invitation to the reservation for breakfast and new clothing. I was given a knitted, button-up sleeveless sweater and a pair of baggy black pants to wear, and I was served oatmeal and black coffee. I devoured it like I devoured small game the night before. Kiya took a seat right in front of me, in the dim light of the shaded lamp hanging above the small round dining table where our food sat. Jon was there, taking massive bite sizes like I remember my father doing. I also was hearing about their background in the meantime, sharing mine in between in bits and pieces.

"I am a shaman. People like Kiya and I are very _respected_ here," Jon revealed; he was so soft-spoken. "We both inherited this from our mother. What about you?"

"My father," I said. _He turned me_, I thought to myself.

"Where does your line originate from?"

"Russia."

Kiya sighed and looked down into her coffee cup before sipping and placing it back down: "European Lycans are the most _deadly_, not to mention the largest. That explains so much. Plus, your fur is… white?"

"Tan."

"Here they are mostly black," Jon said. "Is… what we've learned true, though?"

"What?"

"That your kind of Lycan are the worst?"

"My father was an absolute _monster_," I replied with confidence. "I am_ not_ my father. I'm _me_. That is all that matters. I've never taken a life, except in self-defense as a human."

They both nodded at me and looked at each other. I just zoned out and stared at the center of the table, where fresh daisies were sitting in a vase of water. We continued to share our experiences, but it was also not long after this meeting that I was asked to join their pack. I did not pass up the chance. Apparently, there was an entire pack of twelve Lycans established in the area, and I figured it would be good for me. They were far from the same culture as me, but all that mattered was that I had people who had my back regardless… well, maybe not "regardless", per se. Most packs recognize you as part of it if you are loyal and have the backs of everyone else in the group. I kept this up until 1993, when I got a very conspicuous job offer.

* * *

It all started with me being stalked. I'm not kidding. I had moved to a new place by this point, too, and managed to finish college. At first it was the odd letter every two weeks, but as months went by it was more frequent. I would also get odd phone calls in the middle of the night. When I picked up the first few times, it sounded like some sort of radio code used by the military. I'd hang up and go back to sleep. As the letters grew frequent, so didn't the calls. Oh, I forgot the weird part about the letters: some were blank, some had cryptic messages, but they all had one thing in common aside from being weird. They had no return addresses. One of the perks of being a Lycan is having an acute sense of smell, and I would smell the letters trying to get a clue, but to no avail. It continued, and finally, by November of that year, I got a visitation by two men in black suits. By this point in my life, I did not scare easily at all, but seeing these men scared me. They introduced themselves as government officials, and I let them in. I let them sit in my living room area and I sat with them.

"So, what brings you here?"

"You're Lavinia Volkov, one of the survivors of the 1984 massacre at Camp Redwood," one of the men said, peering at me through thick, black sunglasses.

I just looked at them and nodded: "we've…established my name, but…uh… _yes_, I'm here, aren't I?"

"You sure are. You also were tried for killing a man in your own home, but it was ruled self-defense and you were let off the hook. True?"

"Excuse me, but… _why_ are you asking me? What happens if I refuse to answer and request a lawyer present?" I questioned. I felt a bit odd telling these strange men anything about my past, but I had to keep my cool.

The men looked at each other and I rolled my eyes. One of them said: "you are a cold-blooded killer, Miss Volkov."

"Excuse me?!" I exclaimed.

"Your father… uh…" They pulled out two pieces of paper, one of them a glossy photograph of my smiling father in a lab coat, "_Doctor_…Ralph Vadim Volkov?"

That did it for me – how the fuck did they know I killed my father? Did something happen to his Lycan form upon death that revealed it was him? Otherwise, I knew for a fact there wasn't any way to tell it was him in that form because he was not even human, but a _beast_. Did they catch onto the fact he was missing for so long? All of these questions raced through my head as I felt tears filling my eyes, seeing my father, a human man, devoted to God with the sole purpose of cleansing him of the horrific acts he committed when not himself, a fertility doctor… my _father_ above all. I took the photo and looked down at it gravely, feeling my heart turn to stone and my veins turn to ice.

"Alright…" I gave in, "what the hell do you guys want? Is this why I've gotten letters and calls the past month?"

"We realized a direct approach was better. You see, we have had your father's body in custody for the past nine years for the purpose of research. When the morgue took him in, an autopsy was performed the next day. What came in as this _creature_ turned back into a human, who we identified as _your father_. The, uh, creature's head was in shambles, but your father's body? No sign of any trauma to the head or body at all. The cause of death is on there, we gave a copy of the coroner's report."

I took a look at the document and sniffled, seeing that my gunshots did not matter: _acute poisoning, aconitum napellus_. It was the wolfsbane that was in the bullets that killed my father. This was so confusing. Why the hell were they doing this after all this time?

"Why now?" I asked. "Why now after _nine years_? Did you even get _consent_ to take my father's body?"

"He donated it to science. He had legal documentation of it, and we uncovered it. We did not break any laws, Miss Volkov," one of the men said to me. "We did find bullets at the scene, and you were crying manically at the scene when you were found by paramedics, blood spewing from your mouth, a deep wound in your chest."

"What do you _want_?!" I spat. "I do _not_ have all day!"

"Miss Volkov, please keep your-"

"Tell me!" I said louder, "tell me what you want, and why you are here! You can cut the shit with the blackmail!"

The men sighed and stood up, looking down at me: "you want your father to be laid to rest?"

"He should have been to begin with. He suffered immensely!" I exclaimed with a growl. "I cannot believe you would just do that! He may have consented to research when he died, but NOT being refused a proper burial for _nine straight fucking years_!"

My voice shook the entire place, I was livid. I was so angry that my father had been refused a proper burial all of that time. Anybody would be angry. One of the men raised his voice slightly, but had a calm vibe to it.

"Miss Volkov, we have a way to settle this. Do you know a Benjamin Richter?"

"Mr. Jingles, or should I even _say_ that? He didn't kill all those people! The real killer was Margaret Booth, and she nearly killed me and another one of my friends," I replied, still coming off short-fused. "He was released by some shrink who wanted to do research."

"Donna Chambers."

"That bitch, yeah," I agreed.

"Miss Volkov, you have the skills needed for this task."

"What task? Get to the point!" I had lost my patience the minute they told me my father's body was kept in custody. They were pushing it now.

"You need to travel to Alaska to kill him," one of the men said. "We know he lives in Fairbanks, address and all."

"_WHAT_?" I was dumbfounded. "What the…are you kidding me?!"

"If you do this for us, we will set your father's body free for a proper burial, as he would likely want."

I was flabbergasted. I took the offer, but _only_ for my father. I tried to reason with them on how Benjamin Richter wasn't the killer, but apparently, he had been on a watch list for years since despite keeping a very low profile. My other incentive was $10 million, which I accepted. A chunk of change doesn't hurt, and maybe I could move somewhere better after the fact. I had let Jon, Kiya, and the rest of the pack know I was leaving, and they met it with uncertainty, but I assured them I would be back.

* * *

The trip up north to Alaska was not terrible. My lodging and flight were travel were taken care of, and I had to sign my soul over to the Devil… just kidding. Heck, I even transformed up there because it happened to be a full moon, and it was in December. I froze my ass off after turning back into a human, but I was able to be around _real_ wolves, not Lycans, which was refreshing. I found out quite a bit when I was in Fairbanks, tracking down Richter. It shocked me, to say the least – this man had a family. A _family_, of all things. I spent a good two hours one afternoon peering into their home from a tree with binoculars. His son could not have been any older than six, and he had a wife who was maybe five years younger. Richter worked at a Blockbuster, and how he got a job is beyond me, especially with his name dragged through some pretty thick mud. Was he under a new name? I remember wearing a thick coat and a light gray lace tying headband that went as a bow on the top of my head with some makeup heavier than I have ever worn in my entire life. I pretended to browse films while some jackass was returning films to where Richter was standing behind a counter. Side note, he looked _very_ different. Cleaner, with balding and his eye was not so crooked like I remembered it to be.

"I came here last night to rent _horror_, dude!" The customer sounded so rude, I even felt a bit bad for him. "Three movies! That's it! I wanted _Halloween_, _Friday the 13__th_ and _American Werewolf in London_! Is this some joke?"

"I just…"

"This is what you gave me!" I watched the customer shuffle through the tapes_ "Breakfast Club_, _Sixteen Candles_, _Weird Science_… there is _not_ one kill in these movies!"

"You really shouldn't watch horror," Richter said with a cool, calm, collected demeanor. I just peered over, observing the scene.

"Why's that?"

"There's too much violence in this world already."

That is what made me have a change of heart about putting a bullet in his head after quietly breaking into his house. That night I had planned to carry it out. I had been watching him enough to know his patterns, aside from anything else I already knew. Granted, it was likely I'd never see my father's funeral or possibly worse, but…I saw firsthand how he turned his life around. That night, I had taken off the gross makeup and took out the hair tie and approached the small house on 184 Clay Street, bundled up in the dark of night, and knocked on the door. It took five minutes to get an answer, but when I saw Richter opening the door, he looked at me strangely. My blood nearly froze – I was face to face with the same man who was accused of something so heinous by a truly evil woman.

"Uh, hello? How can I help you?"

"A-Are you…uh…" I stammered and sighed, "Benjamin Richter?"

"Yes. And you are?"

I paused: "the youngest counselor ever at Camp Redwood."

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped: "I…uh… I…"

"I'll tell you why I'm here, if you just let me in," I mentioned, persuading him to do so. "I…do not mean you any harm, at all."

He let me in, and his wife came out to see what the matter was with me being there. She looked at me strangely, and then to Richter. She was in her late thirties with blonde hair and green-blue eyes. Fairly attractive.

"Who is this?" she asked, tying her bathrobe just a bit tighter.

"Just someone I know from _what happened_," he mentioned. "I'll be in there in a bit, Lorraine." My heart raced, but I was relieved when Lorraine, his wife, left the room. I sat down and removed my coat, looking at him as he sat down in the chaise across from me. The inside of the house was cozy and quaint, and I could barely start the conversation. I just stuttered like an idiot."

"I…I…"

"You were… the girl I chased…" he recalled.

"Yup. I'm older and my hair is black now," I chuckled, "but all that aside, I need to come clean with you."

"Yes?"

"Well, I know you did not kill all those people in 1970. The one who did suffered dearly, and I am glad for that…but a few distinct government officials with ties to intelligence sent me here to kill you. I am _not_ doing that. I have been watching you very closely for a bit now, I've been in Alaska for less than a week, and from what I have seen, you do _not_ deserve to die."

He froze and sighed: "I have done all I could to leave my past behind. I can't believe they want me dead."

"I can't either," I said. "You have a son, a wife… a _life_. I refuse to take that away from you, and a child always needs their father."

Richter nodded: "yes, my son is everything to me." He paused. "I named him after my brother." He looked down, and I was attentive.

"Your brother?"

"Yes, _Bobby_," he said, his lips agape with a slight smile. "He… was in an accident."

I saw tears forming in his eyes, the first display of true emotion from this guy. I leaned forward to show him I was listening: "I'm…so sorry."

"He was my younger brother, and we were actually at that camp as kids before it was Redwood. It was called Camp Golden Star in the forties, and it was this blooming flower in the wake of a war that killed millions, including my old man. My mother, her name was Lavinia, too."

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Yes, and it is because of her that Camp Redwood is cursed ground. You see, when she lost my dad, she was desperate for work, so she took a job as a cook at the camp. The pay was horrible, and the work was hard, but free childcare was something a widowed mother could not pass up at the time. She hated it. She was always _so _angry. When you look into your mother's eyes, you're supposed to see love and encouragement. Not with her. All I saw was _hatred_. It was worse when Bobby died. He was eight, I was twelve…I was supposed to watch him as he swam in the lake, but I got distracted by the bodyguard and his girlfriend making out in the woods. I was a typical, dumb kid… I went back to watch him, and some other campers thought it was smart to start the engine on a small boat… with my brother in the water. I tried to make them stop the engine, but it… killed Bobby. My mother was in hysterics when she found out… I can still remember crying as she hit me and screamed in my face."

I shook my head, but the story only got darker.

"I wanted to go home…" He said, looking to his side briefly before returning his eyes to me, "but my mother would _not_ leave. I didn't understand why, until one night, I was woken up by blood-curdling screams, and I saw my mother was not in her bed. I left the cabin, only to see a _bloodbath_ in the staff cabin. I walked in, and the lifeguard reached for my ankle. He was covered in blood, and his throat looked _dark_, like it had been cut. He was hanging on for dear life. I saw everyone else, dead and slaughtered. I see my mother coming out of hiding with her white nightgown, covered in blood, saying it had to be done for what they did."

"I…I have no words… that is horrible," I said, shaking in my seat from fear rather than the cold. Imagine being twelve and seeing shit like this that will only stick with you for the rest of your life. Oh, that's right. I wasn't much older on that night in 1984.

"She wanted to hug me, but she had a knife. I didn't trust her. I ran, she stabbed my leg. She chased me out of the cabin, where she tripped, and the knife fell out of her hand. When she reached to lunge, I…I stabbed her. I had to kill her. She was going to kill me, and I…I had never felt such _remorse _in my life." He paused, shaking his head and sniffling. "Camp Golden Star was shut down right after that incident, but ten years later, Camp Redwood opened. Yeah, it was a new name, but they could not erase the evil. Her blood poured into that ground with all her pain and rage. I know she still haunts the grounds."

I knew why I had a change of heart, well one _more_ reason if anything. Richter and I both had to kill a parent to prevent any more harm from being done to ourselves or to others. My father was dangerous because he was a beast; his mother was dangerous because of her rage and spite.

"I…feel your pain," I stammered lightly, tears rolling down my face slowly.

"After we saw you attacking Margaret, I fled. I fled to the abandoned cabin where those people were killed in 1948. My mother's spirit was there. Do you believe in ghosts?"

"Yup, I saw one while at Redwood. Jonas," I recalled.

"He is just one of many, but… my mother is still there. She has never moved on. I asked her if Bobby was, too, and she screamed like a banshee to not mention his name, and that she missed him. She is stuck, tortured, trying to find him. At least, when I was there last. She told me she had watched me when I was the janitor at Redwood, hoping it was Bobby, but instead it was me. My mother… also claimed to influence Margaret back in 1970 through her dreams to kill all those counselors, and then frame me, where I spent fourteen years pumped with drugs, restrained, cut off from the outside world, treated like a monster. She said I deserved it, that I was a parasite from the time I was a baby, and that she wanted to make sure I burn for eternity… with excruciating agony…"

I shook my head, feeling pain in my chest. I was not the most empathetic person, but this? Pulled at my heartstrings.

"Even more of a reason for you to _live_," I said. "To make your life _good_, without her interfering with anything. It's been years, and it seems you have done very well for yourself up here."

"I count my blessings," Richter said. "Thank you for listening to me, and for sparing my life."

"I had this feeling to just come to your door and… talk," I said. "I know it sounds weird, but… it's true. I'm glad I did."

"I wonder if that… big, hairy_ animal_ still stalks that ground," he speculated.

I bit my lip and sighed, inhaling deeply through my nose. I looked down and shook my head: "he isn't."

"He?"

"Yeah. I know for a fact he isn't," I clarified.

"How?"

"Because that _animal_ was my father," I revealed. "He came back to LA with me, fully human…" I sniffled, "where I had to kill him."

His eyes widened and he adjusted his glasses: "you… what?"

"It isn't something the government is blind to. They blackmailed me with that info when assigning me with the task to kill you. I'm not a killer, but life made me that way. This was by his request. In fact, I was going to call the police because it was insane… a fourteen-year-old asked by _her own father_ to kill him. He was very religious, forbid me from going out on full moons, and stuff like that. He was a Lycan, or… werewolf. His body count was probably higher than Gacy, Dahmer, Bundy and Ridgway combined. When you have the mindset of a feral creature, all reason and morality you were taught as a human goes out the window…"

"I hate to have that common ground with you," Richter said sadly.

"I just hope that…" I sniffled, wiping my eyes, "that his soul is in a much better place."

"As do I…"

I left around midnight, we ended up talking for about two hours, and when I left, I wished him only the very best of luck. Obviously, we could not keep in touch. If the government found out he was alive, I'd be in deep shit.

* * *

I'm actually dressed up for my father's funeral. I had to fly back to New York for it so he can be buried with the family. Finally, he is being laid to rest. All I hope for are two things: that my father is in Heaven or some peaceful afterlife, and that the government officials don't catch on to the fact that I killed someone else in Richter's place. I know I will look back on my act of courage and strength for the rest of my life.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_That's all she wrote...literally! I hope you enjoyed this story! If so, feel free to look at my other works, add this to your Favorites, and leave a Review!_


End file.
